Two Worlds
by XXDragons-ShadowXX
Summary: After Valinor is destroyed, Gandalf, Elrond, Legolas, Glorfindel, Erestor, Celeborn and Galadriel find themselves in the 21'st century, and are unwillingly engaged in a resistance movement against the alQaeda in a small colony in the forests of Canada.
1. Default Chapter

Author: Ash  
  
Rating: PG 13  
  
Warning: Violence, racial controversy, swearing/cursing, AU  
  
Summary: After Valinor is destroyed, and the survivors have nowhere else to turn, they find themselves in the mists of a war in Northern America in the 21'st century, and are unwillingly involved in a resistance movement, hiding out in a small colony in the wilds of the forests of Canada.  
  
Author's Note: This is slightly AU. It is rated for violence and racial controversy. Please note that this is fanfiction and I mean no offence to any other cultures and/or religious beliefs. This fic actually derives from a dream I had and it just wouldn't get out of my head until it was written down.  
  
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Prologue:  
  
Legolas' head broke through the icy sea water and he sputtered for breath, gasping the clear air into his burning lungs, and was barely aware of the pair of strong hands pulling his soaked form into the small grey ship. His attention was immediately drawn back to the inflamed island of Valinor, and he closed his bright Elven eyes in sorrow, his heart weeping at the dreadful scene.  
  
It had been horrifying, happening before anyone could foresee it. It had been as grand as any other night in the land of Valinor; Not long before the great catastrophe, the people of the fair land had just finished one of their many renowned feasts, and were to retire to their prospective homes, but it was not to be. A gleaming light had suddenly appeared within the night sky, at first appearing as a comet, but a was immediately concluded a threat by many. In panicked vigor, the Elves had scattered, many in too much fear to abide to the Valars' commands to head for the ships. Some were coherent enough and did as they were bid, but others were not so fortunate, their fear, as well as the flying object hurdling towards them, drowning out all comprehension. The Valar had then disappeared, where, they knew not.  
  
The Elves whom were fortunate enough to make it to the boats had barely enough time to push off the sandy shore before the oncoming object struck their lands, rattling the earth with a fury so great that even the fiercest creatures would quake in fear.  
  
Legolas, whom had already been boarded in the first boats, along with Mithrandir, Elrond, Glorfindel, Erestor, Galadriel and Celeborn, had watched the scene in utter horror, his mouth agape, as the strange metal article collided with their world, spreading destruction throughout its path, and wiping out all life within its reach. The great cloud that accompanied the blast came forward still, and Gandalf barely had enough time to erect his staff and mutter a spell to protect the cramped ship and obstruct the threat before even the great waters rocked against the silver creature's fury. Legolas had been jarred against the railing then, and had fallen overboard into the murky waters.  
  
His saddened orbs wandered to each figure present, anguish apparent in each of their bright, ancient eyes. Celeborn held his wife lovingly against his breast in silent comfort, while Gandalf kneeled at the bow of the ship, head bowed in one withered hand while the other clutched his staff shakily. Erestor's palm was pressed firmly to his forehead, muttering words of denial, and Glorfindel placed a comforting hand on his tense shoulders, though he himself fought to put on a brave face, it was obvious to anyone who knew the warrior that the slouch of his shoulders and the distress upon his handsome face was not merely the resolution of fatigue. And then there was Elrond. The great Elf lord stared grimly at their once majestic home, now in ruins, his wise grey eyes wide with shock, and his lips slightly parted.  
  
What were they to do now? Where were the Valar and why were they unable to stop the attack, and why had they abandoned them so? Would they even come back? Could it be possible that they were all destroyed by this malice? Were there any other survivors?  
  
The latter was answered when Glorfindel's powerful voice bellowed out into the night, calling for any other whom may have survived the blast. They scanned the destroyed island again, as well as the now destroyed boats rocking softly upon the water's waves. All that answered them was silence, and their heads bowed dejectedly.  
  
They were gone. All of them. Legolas' throat suddenly felt very dry, and he found it difficult to breath. Everyone he had known, everyone he had been raised with, were gone. His father and his mother, his brothers, and his friends, they were no more. Gone.  
  
He was drawn from his reverie when he felt a firm hand tilt his chin as Elrond examined him for injuries, and as the waves continued to rock the boat, he was vaguely aware of a light blanket being draped over his shoulders by the Lady Galadriel, while Glorfindel and Erestor set sail at Gandalf's command.  
  
"Come," the old Istar murmured with sorrow griping his ancient voice. "We cannot stay here."  
  
None of them spoke a word, still in shock from the occurrence that had only moments ago destroyed their home in mere seconds. In silent agreement, the Elves and the Istari set off into the north. Why Mithrandir chose that direction, none knew, but all were too flustered to argue.  
  
Legolas curled up near the flank of the ship despondently, resting his chin on his pulled up legs, returning to thoughts of his family, and to thoughts of what was to come. Where now were they headed? Would they return to the world of Men, thousands of years later after their departure? And if so, would Man accept them or would they have to hide their identities?  
  
To ask Mithrandir would only bring on more confusion and riddles, and he doubted anyone else knew, and so he came to the conclusion that the best course of action would be to remain silent and wait and find out.  
  
A bellowing roar of thunder issued across the night sky as clouds began to form, blinding the stars from vision, accompanied with a bright flash of lightening illuminating the white sails of the ship, and the grey waters it soared upon.  
  
As the heavy rain began to pelt down against the first born's fair complexion, he was barely aware of his own tears mingling with the damp tendrils drizzling down his cheeks, and there he silently wept, for his lost home, his friends, and his beloved family whom he would never see again.  
  
To Be Continued...  
  
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A/N: Though I am not one to beg for reviews, I would like to know if I should continue. I swore I would never write a 'Girl gets dropped into Middle Earth' fic, but this is a more 'Elves get landed in Canada' fic. I tried something a little fresh, please bear with me. 


	2. chapter 2

Disclaimer: I, in no way, hold claim to 'The Lord of the Rings', or 'The Silmarillion'. The characters are strictly the property of Tolkien enterprises.  
  
Ch 2  
  
Glorfindel's voice released a choked grunt as he struggled with one of the ties to the mast while the wind continued to bellow against the small ship, creating massive waves across the blue expanse of the ocean. The rain continued to pelt down hard against the small crew, as they struggled to keep the boat steady and afloat, and Elrond's seneschal was certain that the water had grown a mind of its own.  
  
Three and a half bloody weeks they had been sailing, and none but Gandalf knew where they were headed. By now their provisions were running very low, as much as they tried to conserve them. This much was true, if they did not reach land soon and restock their rations, they would surely starve to death.  
  
His head shot up at the crack of thunder, followed by another strike of lightening lighting up the darkened sky, bringing his attention back to the present. His elven eyes shifted to Mithrandir, whom still stood at the bow of the ship, nearly oblivious to the raging storm around them. His ancient eyes looked onward, as if drawn to something in the distance, that not even he could see in this wrathful void of wind and water. The Istar said nothing of their destination, save this; 'Iluvatar has a plan for us, do not attempt to contend against the Sea.' The old Wizard had seemed quite convinced that the Vala, Ulmo, was conveying them to their rightful destination, and said that it was futile to strive against his will.  
  
And so the Elves obediently did as they were bid, merely concentrating on keeping the ship out of danger while the great waters carried them away. Thus was their attention drawn while they were not mourning the loss of their loved ones. They still grieved over the destruction of their home, so much had been lost, and Glorfindel, as the others had, silently wondered why they had been spared, while every other living Elf had perished. Of course, he had no right to question the will of Iluvatar or the Valar. He, himself had been resurrected from he dead, but was never certain why he had been singled out among every other person that had lost their lives in the line of duty. He had eventually accepted their choice, and had come to serve as lord Elrond's seneschal, though for years the same question still came to mind.  
  
His eyes unconsciously shifted over to the Elf lord, who stood nobly at the wheel, his hands steady as he kept the boat steady. Glorfindel was quite surprised, at first, when the Loremaster had offered to take the helm. The thought had never occurred to him that his master knew how to steer a ship. Then again, he thought, Elrond could be very full of surprises that never ceased to amaze him.  
  
The large oars had been abandoned prier to Gandalf's request, and so each had taken a station, doing what they could. He turned to Erestor whom was across from him, also managing the heavy mast with difficulty. It was obvious that the advisor was not accustomed to such arduous activity. Often times, the golden haired Elf would walk in to his study and find him studying scrolls or writing on feet of sheepskin, hardly spending a moment's time of relaxation. He did better behind a desk than on the wooden boards of a ship, this much was obvious. But despite the situation, Glorfindel could not contain a chuckle that he tried to hide behind his hand when a large spray of water hit the thoroughly drenched Elf, followed by an angered growl as he glared accusingly at the ocean.  
  
Galadriel and Celeborn had relocated to the lower decks, rummaging and counting what little stock they had left, rationing it off into different piles.  
  
The Elf lord's eyes finally drifted to the youngest Elf among them, whom was perched way up high in the small 'nest' of the mast's post. Though it was difficult to make him out against the drowning downpour and the gusts of wind, Glorfindel could easily tell that his bright eyes remained drawn to the distance, searching for something that could not be seen. Though it was obvious that the Sinda's thoughts were anywhere but the horizon.  
  
Loss was something the young Elf had been forced to deal with from a very young age. Since the first hunts in his majority, Legolas had been forced to witness the killings as he defended his home against the threats of Dol Guldur. He had never truly seen the beauty of Greenwood, being born only after the spawn of Ungoliant infested the once majestic forest. Throughout his young life, Legolas' stern, yet loving father had done everything in his power to protect him, seldom letting him away from their borders, even after he had come of age. Thranduil had been devastated to learn that his youngest child had set out as one of the nine walkers to destroy the One Ring, and when finally he returned home, he was greeted with both chastisement and loving arms.  
  
But never again would the young prince feel those powerful arms embrace him in greeting, nor the firm voice and the stern façade that would suddenly fall into a loving expression behind closed doors.  
  
Legolas had been heartbroken when Aragorn had finally passed, and he was completely devastated years later in Valinor when Gimli's time had finally come millennia ago, the only thing keeping him from going mad being his mother and father's supportive presence. But no more would the Woodland king be there to comfort him.  
  
Nay, they had all suffered losses that would take a long time to heal. After the war of the Ring, and the dominion of Man had finally come, the Elves had sailed to the Undying Lands with what life they had left in them. Even then, they had all suffered tremendously. Glorfindel clearly remembered Elrond's reaction when he had learnt of his children's choice to become mortal. It had nearly broken him, and the Elf lord had no choice but to sail for Valinor, lest his grief kill him first. He had been happy for Arwen, as difficult as it was for him to accept her choice, and he had supported Elladan and Elrohir in their decision as well, as much as he dared dissuade them, for they were inseparable, and one would not leave without the other. The Loremaster had probably lost more loved ones than any other upon this small vessel, those including even his parents and his brother, and now his beloved Celebrian, the only one he had left to live for. But there was naught that anyone could do now. They had no choice but to accept their current situation, and learn to adapt to the circumstance.  
  
The seneschal suddenly cursed aloud as another wave crashed into the boat, spraying the already drenched Elves with more of the salty liquid, leaving them sputtering for oxygen. Not long after, Another wave slammed against the vessel, and was precisely when Elrond became worried.  
  
Then, without warning, the sails began to howl as the wind came full force with a vengeance, and both Glorfindel and Erestor braced themselves and held the ropes firmly. Their sodden clothing and damp hair whipped violently around them in the raging storm, and they gritted their teeth as the rain continued to pelt them, stinging their eyes like hundreds of tiny needles. Again, the ship jolted, and with the sharp jostle also came the tearing of a sail.  
  
The ship began to rock dangerously then, and Glorfindel watched from a distance as Elrond attempted to steady it, with no such luck, and now he was completely certain the Sea had a mind of its own as the boat was pulled in one direction, unable to be stopped.  
  
As if matters had not become difficult enough, the sky illuminated once more as they neared flashes of lightening, the number of seconds in between the strikes continually increasing.  
  
By that time, Gandalf's mind seemed to be made up, and as he left the bow of the ship, he cried out to his companions. "Leave the ship to steer herself, Ulmo will guide her! Get inside, now!"  
  
Hesitation masked all the Elves features, but one glance at the nearing lightening seemed to be enough for them to obey the Maia's command. As the small crew headed for the doors of the cockpit, Elrond was quick to notice the absence of one individual. In a worried frenzy, he whipped his head around to the small outlook on the top of the mast, but not noticing the figure there either, felt his heartbeat increase tenfold. A silhouette perched upon a beam suddenly caught his eye, and he bit back a worried cry as Legolas nearly slipped when he reached out to grab the torn canvas.  
  
"Legolas," he cried, his worry turning to terror as the lightning grew ever closer. "Legolas, get down here, this instant!"  
  
For an instant longer, the sun-kissed Elf ignored him as he finished tying a quick knot in the sail, before scrutinizing it until convinced it would hold until he grabbed hold of a rope and swiftly slid down.  
  
Elrond glared at him disapprovingly once he had reached his side, and guided him down the stairs with a hand on his shoulder. "That was incredibly foolish," he chastised after closing the doors behind him. "Lightening could have struck you."  
  
"My actions were for the benefit of us all," the younger Elf replied simply. "The ship might have gone astray, otherwise."  
  
"I think not. Have you not noticed that the ship is steering in one direction only? No matter what we attempt, the ship is set on its course, and none of our actions can change that."  
  
"That is odd," Legolas commented as he was passed a towel to dry himself. "The ship heads straight in one direction even with the waves as powerful as they are."  
  
"It is odd," agreed the Elf lord with a nod, as he too was given a towel. "Nevertheless, that does not excuse your reckless behavior."  
  
"I apologize, lord Elrond," the younger Elf replied for the sake of humoring the other. "It will not happen again."  
  
As the two Elves dried themselves, a smirk passed Glorfindel's face for the second time that day. Since the destruction of Valinor, Elrond had become as a mother hen to the Mirkwood prince, and though he doubted either of them to admit it, they both took silent comfort from the relationship.  
  
Even before this whole ordeal, the two had known each other well. Back in the days when Elves still roamed Middle-Earth, Legolas, Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel had been close friends, getting into more trouble than was physically possible. The four had always seemed to be a target for trouble, coming home from orc hunts to be patched up and mended again, then afterwards would be seated side by side on one of the large beds of the infirmary with Elrond pacing before them, giving a long, heartfelt lecture.  
  
In a way, Legolas had become to Elrond as a fourth son, and since the Elf lord had lost his children, he was, at least, grateful to still have Legolas. Even in Valinor, the two would spend time together, either over a game of chess and a cup of tea, or simply recalling times of old.  
  
The boat suddenly jolted again, causing its occupants to stumble. Grumbling to himself, Gandalf merely sat on the smooth wooden floor, his actions being followed by the others. After a short while, Celeborn's sigh broke the silence. "What are we to do, now, Mithrandir? We are low on foodstuffs, and we have no way of replenishing our supplies."  
  
"Aye," Legolas nodded. "And I have seen no signs of land for days."  
  
"Our current circumstance is unfortunate," The Istari sighed. "But Iluvatar has spared us for a reason. What that reason is, I cannot tell you, for I, myself do not know. But you must have faith. Things will get better in time. All we can do is be patient and see what awaits us."  
  
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Jinnder: lmao! Then point and laugh, 'cos I'm from Texas, County. LOL, no, j/k, I am from Canada, and damn well proud of it too.  
  
Meghan: Thank you, and sorry this update took so long. Things have been a bit hectic lately.  
  
Shining Star of Valinor: Thanks for your input, I think I will continue.  
  
DreaminofLorien: I'm happy you're enjoying this fic, and I'm so sorry I took forever to update, I've had a lot to deal with lately. Hope you enjoy the next chapter.  
  
LOTRFaith: Thank you, and here I am with the next update ( Again, sorry this took forever. I hope you don't decide to abandon this fic just yet.  
  
Athena Diagon Cat: LOL, So sorry I decided to take my sweet time with this fic, I hope you enjoy this next chapter. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: The lord of the Rings, and the characters associated with it are not mine, and are strictly property of J.R.R. Tolkien.  
  
CH.3**  
  
Celeborn released a barely contained groan as everything around him came into focus. The first thing he was aware of was the throbbing ache in the back of his head where he had struck it against the hard wooden planks when the boat had jolted against one of the great waves.  
  
The storm had grown ever worse as they approached, and yet the ship remained on its current course nevertheless, pushing past the wind and rain, and past the tidal waves that threatened to drown them. A particularly rough tidal wave had jostled the boat so hard that it had knocked the entire company to the floor, sending them crashing into darkness with the unexpected jolt which caused them all to strike their heads.  
  
Now, though, everything seemed motionless. There was no rocking of the ship, nor was there the distinct sound of thunder. The Lord of the Wood could scarcely here the twittering of birds, as well as a barely audible breeze.  
  
The Elf Lord blinked several times more to help clear his vision, before rolling onto his stomach and pushing himself on to his hands and knees and rising to unsteady feet. Apparently he had been the only one yet to rise, he thought as he scanned his eyes over his companions.  
  
He instinctively rushed over to his beloved wife's side when he noticed her sprawled across the wooden floor where shy lay, pale eyes shut against the world around her, her fair face completely blank in her unconscious state. With a light hand on her shoulder, and a hushed tone, he gently roused her.  
  
"Galadriel, my dear, come, you must wake. Galadriel," a meek moan answered his response as the Lady of the Wood shifted as she began to wake, blinking dazedly up at her husband's concerned face.  
  
"Celeborn," she murmured as he took her by the hand to help her rise, his free hand upon the small of her back. "Where...?"  
  
"I do not know," the silver haired Elf replied with a shake of his head. "But something tells me we are far from home."  
  
"I hear the chirping of birds," the she-Elf said after a moment of silence. "The boat is still."  
  
"Yes, I believe we have reached shore," An audible groan interrupted him from speaking further, and both Elves glanced over to where Gandalf struggled to his feet, using his staff to push himself up, his hand rubbing absently at his aching head. "Mithrandir," Celeborn greeted as he and his beloved rose. "How do you fare?"  
  
"I've felt better," the Maia grumbled, taking a moment to gaze about the lower deck and to each of the still figures, and both Elves could tell by his expression that the wizard knew they had stopped, though he said naught of it. "Wake the others."  
  
The Elves did as they were bid, and together the three wandered around the room, each rousing a figure from sleep, and in turn, each awoken individual would assist in waking the still sleeping Elves.  
  
Legolas was the last to wake as an insistent, yet gentle hand shook his arm. "Awake, Legolas," the Elven prince faintly heard Glorfindel's powerful voice as his mind wandered into consciousness. "We have reached shore. Come on, now."  
  
"Lord Glorfindel," he murmured with a hint of disorientation, pushing himself into a sitting position as his eyes wandered about. "In what land have we docked upon?"  
  
The Balrog slayer merely shrugged at the inquiry. "I know not, _penneth_. A place far from Valinor, I gather."  
  
Legolas nodded in momentary satisfaction with the answer, an action he quickly regretted when his head began to pound unmercifully. "Ai," he moaned as he squinted his eyes shut, his hand rubbing absently at his temples. "What has happened?"  
  
"Apparently we were all knocked unconscious when a tidal wave struck the ship, and from the feel of things, we have been asleep for many a day," The Wizard answered as the rest of the company gathered around him. "It seems that Ulmo has brought us to where we ought to be, after all."  
  
"Perhaps," Erestor murmured, though a hint of doubt was evident in his voice. "What ought we to do now?"  
  
"We look around," Glorfindel replied, already heading to the latter which lead to the outer deck. "See what this new land has to offer."  
  
"Are you mad?" the councilor exclaimed, whirling around to meet the eager gaze of the seneschal. "We have no idea what lies yonder."  
  
"And we shall never know, lest we explore the terrain," the golden-haired Elf persisted, before he ascended the latter with graceful vigor, and opened the hatch, allowing a bright ray of sunshine to brighten the dully lit room.  
  
When Gandalf released an irritated sigh but did not protest, Legolas presumed his reaction as reluctant consent and followed closely behind the elder Elf, his youthful curiosity taking a strong hold over his will. When he reached the main deck and jogged up to where Glorfindel stood overlooking the helm, his face became a measure of awe as his eyes scanned over the horizon.  
  
The ship had washed up upon the banks of a river, how they had escaped the ocean to end up there, neither Elf would ever know, but in his heart, Legolas felt that The Valar were responsible. Perhaps Mithrandir's faith in Ulmo was well placed, for only he, other than Iluvatar himself, could be responsible for such a deed, and control the waters to carry them where they were destined to go.  
  
Before them, lay a great forest dominated by pine and oak trees, and the grass was long, and a healthy shade of dark green. Birds sang happily in the trees, ancient by standards of men, but only mere saplings to the Elven people. Squirrels chased one another happily through the grass, while the odd rabbit would sit on its haunches overlooking its surroundings warily, eyes shifting and ears twitching in opposite directions. No longer was the sky darkened by rain clouds, instead the bright rays of Anor illuminating the world around them.  
  
The land was breathtaking, and the young prince could not help but imagine himself back home in Eryn Lasgalen. Footsteps brought him out of his reverie, and he glanced behind him as the rest of the company approached.  
  
"Eru, and Elbereth," Erestor swore under his breath. "Where in Middle-Earth are we?"  
  
"I very much doubt we are in Middle-Earth at all," Elrond replied as he gazed around him in wonder.  
  
"Indeed," Gandalf murmured. After a brief silence, he turned to the others. "Come, we cannot linger in this place. We must gather what supplies we have left, and go in search for food and shelter."  
  
"That would be the best course of action," Galadriel agreed with a simple nod of her head.  
  
That said, the Maia and the Elves relocated back into the lower decks of the ship, rummaging satchels and supplies. The only weapons aboard the boat were daggers, and though they were a far cry away from what they would normally handle, they each strapped one to their belts anyhow, satisfied that they would serve their purpose.  
  
Taking only what they needed, the small party hoisted a satchel each over their shoulders before taking leave of the grey ship that Legolas and Gimli had built long ago. Were it not so badly damaged, they may have had more use of it, but as it was, they boat was damaged beyond repair.  
  
"First things first," The White Wizard announced as he and the company traveled up the small hill which lead into the forest. "It has been days since any of us has had a decent meal. I doubt I am the only one among us who craves for a bite to eat."  
  
"Mayhap I could carve a spear," Elrond suggested as he selected a fair sized stick from the ground, examining it thoroughly. "And hunt some fish ere we depart the river."  
  
"I had spotted some apple trees in the distance on yonder," Legolas added as he regarded the forest with a point of his finger. "I will fetch some for us."  
  
"I will accompany you, _Thranduilion_. I don't very much like the idea of us being separated," The Lady of Light responded, and though Legolas opened his mouth to protest, a stern look settling Galadriel's resolve silenced him.  
  
"As you wish, my lady," the Elven prince relented with a bow of his head.  
  
"Very well. Lord Celeborn, Erestor and I shall remain and set up camp for the night. Return before sunset, and we will decide from there on where we shall head," Gandalf explained to the small group. "Be careful, all of you. We cannot tell what dangers lie in this new world. Should anything seem amiss, report back immediately. Am I understood?"  
  
"Yes, Mithrandir," Elrond replied before he and Glorfindel headed back down to the river, already in the process of carving sharp edges into their sticks with their knives.  
  
Nodding at her husband, the Wizard, and the advisor, Galadriel and Legolas walked onward in search of the apple trees the prince had spoke of, while the remaining individuals turned and began salvaging what they could to create a descent shelter for the night.  
  
**Penneth: young one  
  
Thranduilion: son of Thranduil  
  
(A/N): Sorry this chapter took so long guys, I know it's short, and I know I took forever to post it, but a lot's been going on lately. There has been a recent death in my family, and so I really haven't been up to writing, and also my other fic on Adultfanfiction.net has taken a lot out of me as well, so please bear with me for a while longer.  
  
Reviews:  
  
LOTRFaith: Well I'm glad you haven't completely forgotten about me. I'm happy that you were happy that I updated ( Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well.  
  
Smushed Pea: Thank you very much, happy to know this fic is being enjoyed. Yeah, I know what you mean, Glorfindel is one of my favorite characters, too. I was pretty disappointed that he wasn't in the movie ( Ah well, at least there are those who appreciate him.  
  
Xiad Rusco: Thank you, and don't worry, I will continue.  
  
Athena Diagon Cat: LOL, yes, lucky Elves, they don't get motion sickness, unlike us petty mortals.  
  
Demee: Thank you. A Legolas/OC? Hmm.... I don't know, I'll have to think about it. We'll see, maybe I'll surprise you, but even if I do decide on it, it won't be for a loooong time yet.  
  
DreaminofLorien: Thank you again, glad you liked it. Did this chapter live up to your expectations as well, I hope? I tried to get this chapter up as soon as I could, but like I said, a lot's been happening lately.  
  
Erestor: Yeah, I hate to say it, but Elves seem to have a lot more faith than humans do. I dunno, maybe that's just me. Yes, poor Elrond, you gotta love him. And poor Thranduil, too, he's so awesome. I'm such a bitch, aren't I? Don't worry, eventually you'll see why the said Elves and Gandalf have been spared. Lol, don't worry, I'll watch out for that 'orb' thing if it bothers you so much.**


	4. chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own 'the Lord of the Rings', 'The Silmarillion', or any of the characters associated with either book. Credit belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.  
**  
The clear waters of the open river rippled with a silver layer as Glorfindel's spear drove into its shimmering depth, only to be hauled back up not a second later with his triumphant kill; a large trout, felled immediately by the sudden blow of the sharp edge. The seneschal trudged back over to the shore, adding the large fish to the rest of the small mound.  
  
The two Elf lords continued to hunt long into the afternoon, gathering food that would supply them for several days should they not find anything edible on their journey. Their britches were rolled up just above their knees as they waded around in the crystalline liquid, their shirts completely removed, leaving their bare chests open to the wind, Anor's rays shining down upon their muscular ripples of their forms.  
  
Taking a moment to swipe the collecting sweat from his forehead, and plunge his hands into the cool river water and splash it upon his face, Elrond plowed his way over to his companion, placing his own kill in the growing pile, eyeing it thoughtfully.  
  
"This should last us, for now. Come," The Elf lord said, craning his neck to gaze at the setting sun. "The day grows late, and Mithrandir will wonder over our delay."  
  
"Aye," the seneschal agreed, gathering the corners of the cloth they had lain their game upon, and hauling the makeshift bag over his shoulder. "You are right, I suppose. Best not give him cause to worry."  
  
Gathering their forgotten garments on the ground, the two Elves made their way back to the campsite in companionable silence, redressing along the way. When they finally reached their destination, their eyes caught sight of the small fire the trio had built, as well as the shelter; a small lean- to made of dead logs and foliage with a low roof. Albeit it would be a bit close for comfort, but it was shelter, nonetheless.  
  
Glorfindel lay his burden next to the fire, and Erestor walked over inquiringly, leaning over and pulling back a corner, scanning his eyes over the trout, before glancing back up at the seneschal. "This should last us at least four days."  
  
"Yes," the former warrior nodded. "We know not for how long we will be wandering. We'd best be prepared."  
  
The councillor merely nodded in agreement.  
  
"Have Legolas and lady Galadriel not yet returned?" Elrond asked, noticing that the two of their party had not come back from their excursion.  
  
"Nay," Celeborn replied, his features unintelligible. "This world is new, and we know not what is in store for us."  
  
"They could very well be exploring the terrain," Erestor suggested. "You may be concerning yourself over naught."  
  
"Perhaps," The Maia nodded. "Should they not return in fifteen minutes then we shall go in search for them."  
  
"Agreed," Celeborn sighed.  
  
"For now," The golden haired seneschal proposed, kneeling down to the ground and pulling out his knife as he grabbed one of the fish. "Let us prepare dinner."  
  
()()()()()()()  
  
Legolas jumped from one bough to the other with the grace and stealth that only his people possessed. A Prince of the forest he once was, and though he had yet to meet these new trees, mere saplings compared to his immense years, he could already hear their silent voices of curiosity, for they had never seen one of his kind before, and he was rather amused at their astonished reactions when they realized that he could understand them. He gently caressed the bark that he passed, picking the offered apples from their limbs that he had asked permission to take in his native tongue.  
  
Fruit truly was nature's gift to the beings that inhabited Arda, and the trees truly deserved respect that even the highest kings received, for they were truly the very symbol of life.  
  
Plucking another plump apple from a protruding branch, he placed it in his satchel along with the others. He then swung to another branch as if it were second nature to him, and reached out for more of the sweet fruit when he heard the Lady of the Wood's musical voice call to him.  
  
"Legolas, we ought to return ere we are missed. The sky grows dark, and the stars shall soon be exposed."  
  
The fair Lady had insisted on remaining on the ground and harvest the fruit from the lower boughs, selecting only the reddest and ripe apples for their crop. Legolas could now see her golden head as she walked over to the tree he was now perched in through the bushy green leaves.  
  
"As you wish, my lady," the young Sinda replied as he quickly reached out to pluck one more apple from a dangling limb, but he froze mid-stretch suddenly as something in the distance caught his eye.  
  
His brow furrowed as he leaned forward, before stealthily leaping into the boughs of another tree and clambering up to its highest point. So intent was his curiosity that he did not hear Galadriel's questioning voice.  
  
Ahead in the distance, his eyes narrowed as he regarded a group of Men with great interest. This had been his first glimpse of Man in a very long time, and from the looks of things, they had evolved a great deal.  
  
Their flesh was tanned, and thick dark beards were bared upon their faces. Some wore sheets or hoods over their heads, and others merely had dark crops of hair. Strange objects were swung casually over their shoulders, long tubes with handles on the end, and there were smaller, more facile instruments of the same manner strapped to their sides. They were speaking in an odd tongue, certainly not Westron, nor any language he had ever heard.  
  
For a moment, he considered scaling through the trees after them to further observe their nature, but then he heard the Lady of 'Lorien's voice below him.  
  
"Legolas, what is amiss? What do you see?"  
  
Taking one last glimpse at the wandering Humans, the Prince swung from his branch and leapt to the ground, landing in a crouching position a foot away from the blonde she-Elf.  
  
"'Tis Man, Lady Galadriel. A small party of them on yonder in the distance," he explained as his eyes were again drawn out into the forest. Galadriel followed his line of sight, her features unreadable. There was a short silence before she spoke.  
  
"We must not be seen, _penneth_," she said plainly. Even without the power of Nenya, the golden Lady was still as perceptive and knowing as ever, and she clearly saw the youthful curiosity in the Prince's blue eyes that always presented itself when he was exceedingly inquisitive about something. "Man has not seen the likes of our race in millennia, and I very much doubt they are aware of our existence. We must take care, for Men fear what they do not understand, and even I cannot predict their reaction should they see us."  
  
"I know this, Lady," he sighed. "Our presence may very well frighten them, and possibly create havoc unto their entire race. Though I wish it were not so, they may be able to help us."  
  
Galadriel nodded lightly, though did not make a response to his musings. Instead she placed a delicate hand on his shoulder. "Come, let us return to the camp."  
  
"Yes, my Lady."  
  
()()()()()()()  
  
"Did they see you at all?"  
  
The smoke rose from the small fire as the fish sizzled over the makeshift grill, turning a nice red shade as they were flipped to the other side. Glorfindel was quite the masterful cook, and he seemed to take great pride in it.  
  
The small group of Elves now sat around the fire, eating their fill of fried fish and apples, using the inner-side strips of peeled bark as plates, and their knives as utensils.  
  
"Nay, Lord Celeborn," the Woodland Prince swore to the Eldar. "I assure you we were seen by no one."  
  
"How far from our position were they?" Elrond inquired before cutting a slice of apple and popping it into his mouth.  
  
"Less than a day ahead of us, but they were not advancing in our direction."  
  
"Still," The loremaster mused. "I do not much care for the idea of a throng of Men walking in on our camp and discovering us. It could very well be naught but trouble."  
  
"I agree," Gandalf replied. "We will take shifts then, and will alternate during the night," Scanning his eyes over the camp, and seeing that his companions had finished their meal, he continued; "I suggest you all take some rest. I will take first watch."  
  
"When do we leave?" Erestor inquired as he rose from his spot on the ground. He moved to Glorfindel's side to assist him with the salting and wrapping of the leftover fish so they would not go rotten.  
  
"At first light," the Istari simply stated, before planting his staff firmly onto the ground and hauling himself to his feet. He wandered out several feet away from the small camp, and chose a large boulder to seat himself on before fishing in to his robe pocket and retrieving his old pipe.  
  
He lit it and smoked on it absently, letting his mind drift as he overlooked the shoreline. What wonders this new place had to offer, he would soon find out.  
  
()()()()()()()  
  
Erestor's watch broke into the dawn of day, and as the faintest rays of the sun began to appear amidst the horizon, the birds slowly began to stir from their nests and belt out their songs in a harmonious chorus, as other forest life began to emerge from their shelter in search for food.  
  
A small herd of does came within range of their camp, close enough to easily watch, but far enough that they would easily bolt should they be approached.  
  
The hint of a smile quirked at the advisor's lips as he took a moment to abandon the journal he was currently writing in, and studied the animals closely, the first true smile he had shown since the destruction of Valinor.  
  
His stomach clinched at the memory of the island enveloped in flames. It had been horrifying. So many lives lost. Now they were alone, the last of their kind among a world of Men. Would they ever be accepted should they find out about them? Only the future could tell.  
  
He abandoned those painful thoughts and deliberately dipped his quill in the small jar of ink at his side, returning his attention to his journal. So engrossed in his writings was he that he did not sense something amiss until the deer nearby him startled and ran past him in panic. His head shot up and his eyes searched around him. For the first time he noticed that the forest had become silent. No chirping of the birds fluttered over the wind, nor was there the sound of small creatures scurrying about.  
  
He listened more intently now, slowly standing up from his spot on the rock and placing his book and quill aside. A snap of a twig not far off caught his attention immediately, followed by several footfalls.  
  
His silent form quickly dodged over to the sleeping figures under the small lean-to, and he shook the dozing Wizard's shoulder hurriedly. "Mithrandir! Mithrandir, you all must awake, quickly!" he whispered sharply.  
  
His silent pleas were enough to rouse his companions, and Gandalf's eyes flashed open, at once, all traces of sleep gone from his withered face. "What? What is it?" he demanded.  
  
"Hush," the Councillor implored with urgency. "Footsteps come, over thither," he pointed in said direction, and the others could clearly hear them approach.  
  
"What do we do, Gandalf?" Glorfindel murmured as he eyed the shrubs readily, his hand only inches away from the dagger strapped to his side.  
  
The old Maia took a moment to reply, his eyes wide and searching, not in fear, but more out of curiosity. "Gather your belongings as quickly and quietly as you can, take only what is absolutely necessary. Go! Go!"  
  
The Elves were quick to scramble to their feet, grabbing satchels of food and other essential supplies. The footsteps grew closer, much faster now, and the Istar demanded they leave all else behind.  
  
"Into the trees, quickly! Into th--"  
  
A loud crack of thunder interrupted the Wizard's voice, and with a pained yelp, one that none had ever heard escape the ancient Balrog Slayer's mouth before, Glorfindel dropped to his knees with an agonized look on his handsome features, and he clutched at his side desperately.  
  
"Glorfindel!" Elrond cried and bolted over to his companion's side, while the rest of the company halted in their tracks, staring wide eyed at their wounded friend.  
  
Despite his injury, the golden haired veteran attempted to right himself with gritted teeth, but a firm hand on his chest prevented him from doing so. "Nay, be still, _mellon-nin_," The Healer rebuked softly as his worried eyes stared at the blood soaked hand covering the wounded area. "You are injured."  
  
Galadriel was quickly beside them, swiftly tearing off a long strip from her dress to stem the bleeding. She hurriedly removed the trembling hand and replaced it with the cloth.  
  
"What devilry is this?" Elrond murmured, searching for what could have possibly caused the wound.  
  
He had found his answer, he thought, as several men had suddenly surrounded them, training long metal objects on each of their persons. They dared not move. And they could do nothing, for they were outnumbered, and had no weapons that could possibly compete with the objects these men held.  
  
One of them began snapping orders in a tongue none had ever heard, making gestures with his hands, and while some kept their guns and rifles aimed on the Elves and Wizard, the rest marched arrogantly over to them and stripped them of their weapons, and Gandalf of his staff.  
  
"Gandalf," Legolas murmured quietly. "Gandalf, these were the men I saw, these are the ones I told you about."  
  
"You told us they were not heading in our direction," Erestor whispered sharply.  
  
"They were not!" Legolas snapped back. "They must have altered their direction."  
  
"Perhaps they can be reasoned with," the White Wizard suggested, before taking a bold step forward. "Excuse me, we have seemed—"  
  
Another loud crack went off into the air, and the Istari immediately stepped back to his former position, raising his hands before him in a gesture of peace. They clearly saw what had made the noise this time, and smoke still rose from the round tubes of the long metal rods one of the humans were holding.  
  
The apparent leader began shouting orders again and making pointing motions at several of his men, before Gandalf and the Elves found themselves being shoved into the forest, gun points digging roughly into their backs.  
  
Galadriel yelped as she was yanked harshly to her feet by her flowing hair, and Elrond was roughly grabbed by his arms when he tried to resist them, desperate to stay at his friend's side.  
  
"Glorfindel! No, Glorfindel!"  
  
One of the bearded men aimed his gun on the wounded Elf's chest, finger curled around the trigger, but instead of killing the Elf, his superior stopped him, and motioned another of his soldiers over to him. Muttering words Elrond could not understand, the two Men hauled the warrior to his trembling feet, and he grunted as his wounded side was cruelly jostled. He was practically dragged after them, and with unnerved hearts, they were lead into the unknown, unaware of whatever cruel fate was waiting for them.

()()()()()()()  
  
**Penneth: young one  
  
Mellon-nin: my friend**

**()()()()()()()**  
  
**(A/N) Don't worry, guys, Glorfindel's not going to die. I wouldn't have brought him along, were I planned on killing him now. Besides, Glorfindel's one of my favourite characters   
  
Again, I apologize for the long wait, but this chapter was long, wasn't it? I made up for my overdue absence. My grandmother was in the hospital for two weeks, and I really haven't had the time to write, being up there and all.  
**  
**Reviews:  
  
Q ( ): I know, I took forever to get this done, but it's done now.  
  
Yukiryuu21 ( ): Happy you like it! I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations.  
  
DreaminofLorien: Thank you, and don't worry, I will!  
  
LOTRFaith: Well that's great to hear! Yep, that author alerts thing is great. Have I posted soon enough? Probably not, but that's why I made this super long chapter.  
  
Xiad Rusco: Well that's very kind of you, and I thank you. I'm so happy you're enjoying this fic so much. I'm having fun writing it.  
  
Meghan: Yep, on earth now, and have had their first encounter with the evil forces of the Al-Qaeda. So what do you think? **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own 'the Lord of the Rings', 'The Silmarillion', or any of the characters associated with either book. Credit belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.**

**()()()()()**

Ch5.  
  
Legolas grunted irately with narrowed eyes as he felt a hand shove his back in a firm silent command to quicken his pace. Apparently his strides were not fast enough for these strange Men.  
  
They had been walking long into the night, the humans pushing them on where they dared to wonder. The men were growing tired, that was evident enough, and it was a good thing at that, for Glorfindel was growing ever weaker as he was pushed on.  
  
The Balrog slayer was painfully pale, far too pale even for an Elf. He had lost so much blood already from the wound he had received, and he frequently stumbled as the Men forced him on. So weak was he that the two soldiers beside him were now practically dragging him by the arms, and by the glazed look in his bright Elven eyes, it was clear that he was nearing unconsciousness.  
  
"Legolas," a silent, but firm voice whispered behind the young Elf, and the woodland Prince chanced a glance backwards to the Elf Lord behind him. "Legolas, cover your ears."  
  
The Sinda's lips parted, but he said nothing as he noticed Celeborn had already draped his own silver strands over the pointed tips of his ears, and so he followed the Eldar's example, noticing that the others too, had done this, and slowly released the braids at his temples to cover his own leaf shaped ears, thankful that the humans had not yet noticed this odd quality that their kind possessed.  
  
They walked onward into the dark depths of the forest, and were jerked to a halt when they reached a small clearing in a ring of tall pine trees. Gandalf and his Elven comrades were thrown into the center, while their captors made a circle around them, sitting in a manner that would not allow them to escape.  
  
Elrond barely caught his seneschal as he was hurled into the circle of Men with them, and he released a pained grunt as his side was again jostled. The golden haired Elf was carefully lain out on the ground between them.  
  
"Glorfindel," Elrond murmured as he checked his friend over, removing the strip of cloth that bound his wound, before pulling up his shirt to better assess the injury. The wound was deep and encrusted with dry blood, as fresh blood still oozed out, and the area around it was enflamed an irritated.  
  
"Elrond..." the old veteran mumbled, his eyes half lidded as his head rolled from side to side. "We must... get out. We must... Cannot stay... They come for us..."  
  
"What is he saying?" Erestor asked hurriedly, his eyes darting back and forth to the prone Elf on the ground to the dark haired Loremaster. "Elrond, he is not making sense!"  
  
"He is hallucinating," The Elf Lord explained as he pressed a hand to his golden haired friend's flushed forehead. "He is fevered, Erestor, he knows not was he says. 'Tis this wound."  
  
"Will he survive?" The advisor asked almost meekly.  
  
"It will be difficult to say," he sighed. "The injury barely missed his left kidney. This... woodless arrow must be removed, somehow, and then we must stitch the wound closed."  
  
Erestor sighed dejectedly, focusing his attention on the Men surrounding them. "Do you honestly believe that they will give us the supplies we need, if not our own medical supplies?"  
  
"Aye, I do," At the councillor's doubtful expression, Elrond explained. "Do you not wonder why they did not kill him back there? He is grievously injured, surely they would not waste their energy on him for naught. Nay, Erestor, they want him alive. Why, I cannot tell you, but his survival is important to them, as is the rest of ours."  
  
The Men continued on in their babbling to each other in their strange, sharp tongue, and Mithrandir and the Elves listened intently, paying close attention to their hand gestures as well.  
  
"Can you understand what they say, Mithrandir?" Legolas whispered as he eyed the humans carefully.  
  
"Nay, not without the aid of my staff. Should I have it, I would most likely be able to cast a spell so that I would be able to understand their words. Alas, they have torn it away from my very grasp, and I can do naught until I get it back."  
  
"What do you suppose these Men want with us?"  
  
"One can only wonder. But whatever it is, it cannot be good. We must find a way to escape, and soon."  
  
"Mithrandir," Erestor murmured as he slowly inched his way over to the ancient Istar. "Mithrandir, we need our medical supplies. Glorfindel continues to bleed, Elrond must operate."  
  
The Maia sighed as he and Legolas glanced over at the wounded warrior, quietly rambling on in his hallucinatory state, switching from Sindarin to Westron and even to long forgotten Quenya.  
  
"We must help him, Gandalf," The woodland Prince mumbled absently as his bright eyes rested upon the ancient Elf. Too may friends had he already lost, too many deaths had he seen, even for his long life. Elves weren't meant to die, and to see this once great warrior and noble Lord fall at the hands of Man, mere children to their many centuries, would be a great tragedy.  
  
Taking another sigh for what had to have been the tenth time that day, the old Wizard stood to his feet, and took noticeably slow steps towards the leader. "Mayhap I can reason with this one."  
  
His approach was slow, yet confident, and immediately caught the attention of the entire camp. All guns and rifles were immediately aimed on him, but he deliberately ignored them. He stopped before the lead man, and was careful to speak very slowly with suggestive hand movements, since these people were ignorant of their language and had no way of understanding them.  
  
Gesturing his hand towards the injured Glorfindel, he said; "My friend is hurt," then pointing to a satchel, he explained. "I need my supplies so that I can heal him." He then touched the side of his stomach for emphasis.  
  
The young man's lip twitched at the corner, and he scrutinized the sick Elf, and then the old man standing before him. He snorted as he continued to eye him, but he reached out his hand to the side, passing over their own belongings, and grabbing a cream-coloured bag before chucking it at the Wizard, whom surprisingly to the surrounding Al-Qaeda, caught it with as quick a reflex as any boy could.  
  
Bowing his head politely in a gesture of thanks, he quickly shifted the bag's contents around, noticing clear bottles of different liquids, anti- bacterials, he guessed, and some bandages and other assorted objects. This proved Elrond's theory, at least; they wanted them alive.  
  
He walked back over to his comrades and handed Elrond the bag. "In here are medical supplies. Some of the technology I have never seen, though it should serve its purpose."  
  
"Thank you," The dark haired Elf nodded as he opened the pack, pulling out the bottles which were made of strange hard but flexible material, and the long rolled up bandages. He was lucky enough to find a needle and catgut as well, incased in very smooth, clear, thin bag, along with a strange metal object. It was in a long v-shape, and could easily press together. Elrond was vaguely reminded of an arachnid's pincers. These could very well assist in removing that accursed bodiless arrow from Glorfindel's body.  
  
He was slightly surprised when he found a surgical knife in the kit. Surely their captors would not be so foolish to give them weapons on a silver plate. Then again, he thought mildly, they were surrounded by the lot of them, and they had weapons that could kill a person from miles away. He laid the knife aside as he and Galadriel prepared to tend the Balrog slayer's wound.  
  
Having everything but water on hand, the two healers could only sterilize their hands by using the anti-bacterial liquid, and after lathering their limbs in a generous amount of it, they motioned their four companions over.  
  
"I have nothing to dull the pain," the Loremaster explained. "You will have to hold him while Lady Galadriel and I attend to him."  
  
There was not one who did not have a look of guilt upon their face, but all knew that Glorfindel could very well injure himself further were he to shift in the wrong direction. The White Wizard was the first to move into position and kneeled near the top of the golden haired Elf, resting his damp head on his lap, and while Celeborn braced his two powerful legs, Legolas held his shoulders while Erestor carefully placed his hands on either side of his hips.  
  
The Elf Lord took a steadying breath as the tweezers came into place as Galadriel cleansed the wound of the caked blood and puss, readying himself for what would be a long and grueling operation in consideration with their limited supplies. He only hoped that his seneschal's natural Elven healing abilities would do the rest.  
  
A pained cry howled out into the night, one that Arda had not heard in many centuries, and as the birds spooked from their quiet roosts, Mother Nature bowed in grief at the torment of her lost child's agonized voice.  
  
**To Be Continued...**

**()()()()()  
  
REVIEWS:  
  
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	6. chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own 'the Lord of the Rings', 'The Silmarillion', or any of the characters associated with either book. Credit belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.**

**Ch.7**

The Man's panicked cry alerted several of his comrades over to their position, leaving the remaining soldiers to guard the Elven party, weapons still trained on them as if expecting them to attempt to flee, but as the group bounded through the deep foliage of the forest floor, their feet skidded to a halt in the small clearing, creating a looming dust about them, and they looked on in both shock and confusion at the scene that presented its self.

Celeborn, the wise, stood lingering over the cowering human, his posture regal, and powerful, and a stony mask upon his face as he glared down at him. Yet, even though his noble features were enough to stop anyone in their wake, it was not thus that caused the Men to freeze in their tracks; it was the aura of glowing light that surrounded him, only intensified by the darkness of night, and the shadows of the lanky pines.

One of the seemingly braver Men drew closer to the Elven Lord, his rifle drawn with trembling fingers. His eyes grew wider still, as he caught sight of the leaf shaped ear which had been inadvertently uncovered by the silver strands of hair in the Elf and man's little brawl.

Celeborn said not a word. He remained perfectly still, his only movement being the quirk of his head as he shifted his attention to the other human, staring at him blankly.

The soldier hesitated under the intensity of his stare, the bright Elven eyes almost hypnotic in their brilliance. But he was quick to recover, breaking his gaze as he began to stutter orders to his men in his unfamiliar tongue.

The ancient sovereign quickly found himself being lead from the clearing, the tubules of one of the strange weapons these people carried pressing roughly into the small of his back as they returned to the meager camp. He was shoved into the center with his comrades, and immediately the human whom had found him rushed over to his captain, his eyes wide as he relayed what had happened in a rush, as well as what he had discovered about their present captives.

"Celeborn," Galadriel murmured as she crawled towards her husband, her eyes shifting rapidly as she searched for any sign of injury marring his flesh. "My love, are you well?"

"I am unharmed, my dear, truly," he replied in an attempt to sooth his concerned wife. His face was very grave however, and he shared an unnerving glance with the Wizard. "Gandalf, we have been discovered. They know..."

The lead human approached, his stride holding all the arrogance that his personality was made of, and Mithrandir felt his Elven comrades tense in anticipation for what was to come, minus the delirious Glorfindel. "Remain calm. Do nothing to provoke them."

The Al-Qaeda leader reached out his hand, grabbing the limb of the closest Elf in reach of him. Legolas glared menacingly at the Man as he was roughly hauled to his feet, mentally fighting the instinct to defend himself. His golden tresses were pulled aside by calloused fingers, revealing a delicately pointed ear tip. He was then glared at by cold and contemplating eyes, before he was harshly pushed back down to the ground, his arm released.

With a last long, lingering stare at each of them, the captain began barking orders, and his obedient underlings immediately did as they were bid, rising to their feet and kicking out the fire, gathering packs and supplies about the camp.

Now without the light of the flames, did the auras about the Elven bodies truly glow in all their magnificence. The angelic scene distracted several of the soldiers from their task, and it was only by the demand of their leader that they turned away their gazes and returned their focus to their duties.

These men were truly disciplined warriors, indeed, to be barely phased by what seemed to be aliens to them. The leader in particular was a stern and battle-hardened commander, arrogant and fearless to the last detail, at least that was how he appeared.

Two of the Elves apparent guards hoisted the half-conscious seneschal to his feet by his arms, and a pained groan managed to escape his pale lips. He could barely stand, let alone walk, yet he was forced to trudge forward with the assistance of his aides.

Elrond's first instinct as a healer was to object to this cruel treatment of his companion, but he knew better then to provoke these people by opening his mouth. Even the smallest sound seemed to irritate them, and there was no telling what they would do to either him or the Gondolin veteran, should he interfere. And so he was forced to watch in silent anguish as Glorfindel stumbled across the ground, his heart aching for the pain his exhausted friend was forced to endure.

Gandalf and the other Elves were soon forced to their feet as well, and were lead in single file through the forest path. The only source of light being the torches the Men carried, and the natural glow of the Elven bodies.

They walked for miles, it seemed, far into the morning as Anor brought with her her golden rays with the brightening of the sky, and the waking chirps of the birds nestled in their nests in the boughs of the trees. Still, they did not stop, and for what seemed to be the eleventh time since they had departed the camp, Glorfindel slipped to his knees with a choked grunt, his eyes shut tight, and his teeth bared, this truly revealing his agony.

Elves were normally quick to heal from their injuries, far quicker than mere mortals, but even this required some level of rest, and with the Elf Lord's body being jostled and forced as it was, this would be a hard feat to accomplish. He was still weak from both the blood loss and the operation, and the healing wound was still throbbing and painful, akin to a searing poker jabbing into his side. Beads of sweat covered his noble brow, and his cheeks were flushed with exertion, but before he could take more than three steadying breaths, he was hauled back up to his aching limbs.

It was then that Elrond could no longer hold his tongue. "He must rest! Can you not see? He is exhausted."

But it was useless. They could not understand him, and he could not understand them, though the Loremaster doubted that they would actually heed him, even if they could. With a muttered command by the captain, they moved onward, and Elrond winced as he watched his seneschal put all his strength in his efforts to walk.

For many hours they continued across the uneven terrain, and only as the sun began to set did the company stop. Glorfindel allowed himself to collapse to his knees when his guards finally released him, and Gandalf and the others were quickly at his side.

"Glorfindel," Erestor breathed as he knelt down before him, his eyes scanning his companion worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"I've been better," the golden-haired warrior managed through clenched teeth. Heavy pants left his wheezing lungs, his shoulders heaving violently as he greedily sucked in the fresh forest air. Unconsciously, he gripped at his sutured wound, and Elrond, whose keen eyes noticed this, was knelt down next to him in an instant.

The Elf Lord carefully pulled back the hem of his tunic, and quickly unraveled the bandage, revealing the swollen and bloodied wound on the bare hip. Though the stitches were still intact, and the flesh was already scabbing over, the skin around it was irritated with hints of fresh blood.

"This march has aggravated his injury," Elrond sighed, irritation in his voice and his brow furrowed. As a result of these Men's stubbornness, the former Balrog Slayer's wound now risked infection, and with no healing herbs or supplies, he could do little to prevent it from worsening.

"I'll be alright, Elrond," Glorfindel tempted to assure his Lord, shifting his body to a more comfortable position. "I simply need some rest."

Erestor threw the Rivendell patriarch a worried glance, and Elrond, himself, could easily read that expression. They both knew the warrior well enough to know his own emotions. Glorfindel's passive front was only to reassure his companions, and not have them worry over him, especially during such dire circumstances.

The two Noldor helped their friend prop himself against the trunk of a slumping tree, and as the humans settled their belongings while others remained stationed by their captives, Gandalf, and the other Elves joined their confidants, keeping closely together.

They had stopped close to a small meadow. It spanned out for about thirty acres, nothing but knee-high grass, and goldenrod and thistle weeds along the stretch.

As the Elves sat quietly together, Legolas briefly wondered if they would be crossing it. If so, what then? With his keen sight he could easily see across the expanse, and into the forest that continued on thereafter. There was no telling as to where they were going, but it was obvious enough that it would not be pleasant. It was most likely that they were headed to the Men's main village, and that on its own was a dreadful thought, never mind what would happen to them once they arrived there.

Humans feared what they did not understand, and though these Men seemed brave enough, he knew just by their reactions after discovering Lord Celeborn's identity that they were scared. Anger was a natural reaction to fear, after all, and thus had been their response, if not for the apprehension in their eyes.

The silvan prince sighed to himself as he gazed down at his folded hands in silent reverie, for the moment oblivious to his surroundings. No matter what, it was imperative that they find a way to escape.

He must have nodded off, he was certain of it, for when his eyes began to clear from the realm of Elven dreams, the sky was grey with the coming of the dawn.

The camp was only just beginning to rouse, several soldiers carefully stepping over their snoring colleagues and gathering equipment. The Men guarding the Elves had alternated during the night, and they were wide awake, weapons at the ready.

Glorfindel was still resting, his back propped up against the tree, and his eyes half-lidded and glazed over as his battered body fought to heal its self. Elrond was at his side, tired ancient eyes keeping close visual on his friend, and Erestor was flanking the warrior's opposite side, one knee drawn up to his chin, and arms wrapped around it. Galadriel's golden head was nestled upon her husband's lap as she lay dozing quietly, and Celeborn's hand rested upon her shoulder as he leaned his head against a fallen log, his face staring upwards at the lighting sky.

The only one awake was old Mithrandir. His knees were slightly raised in front of him as he puffed on his pipe, his wise blue eyes staring out into nothingness in silent contemplation.

The woodland prince licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak, but a sudden rumbling noise in the distance startled him, and he glanced in the direction in which the sound had emanated from.

Clouds of dust began to rise as some strange, metallic beast appeared out of the trees. It had a sort of squareness in shape to it, and it had a lingering growl, a loud rumbling noise akin to the many flaps of a bee's wings, but more firm and menacing. The sound increased as it drew near, and Legolas could now see that it rode on thick, black wheels, and was controlled by two Men from the inside, shielded by a window.

The others too, had started at the noise, and they were now staring at the beast curiously as it drew closer to them. Finally when it was close enough, it came to a halt, and judging by the expressions of their captors faces, they were happy to see it.

The humans emerged from inside it, doors opening on both sides. The captain whom had held them went over to the other Men and embraced them, talking in rapid tones. After exchanging several words, the leader's face became more serious, and he lead the two newcomers over to their Elven captives.

They were scrutinized with painful curiosity, and as the injured Glorfindel was approached, and his hair pulled back revealing a pointed ear, the Men's eyes grew wide in disbelief, and they glanced at their companion with astonishment. One of the newcomer's spoke, questioning in his voice. The other simply shook his head, and muttered something back.

The Elves were forced to rise, and as they were ushered to the back of the horseless carriage, the two new arrivals pulled back the canvas that covered its top, and pulled open the back wall, before ushering them in. The soldiers climbed in shortly after, and though it was a tight fit, they all managed to squeeze inside the belly of the beast. The wall was then pulled back, and the canvas dropped behind it.

Legolas could hear the doors being opened and shut again at the front, and he could feel the vibrations beneath him as the beast again began to growl. He could sense the movement of it as the shadows of the trees moved past them, and as their speed began to increase, he gazed worriedly at the old Istar. What would happen now?

**Reviews:**

**Regnet: Well that's good, and you're welcome, it was my pleasure. Well glad you approve of the whole 'Celeborn knocking the Al-Qaeda on his ass' thing. Was kind of afraid to post that chapter because people would think he was too OOC.**

**Xiad Rusco: That's good to hear. I think so too.**

**pIPPINpIRATE: LOL, it's ok. Thanks for your enthusiasm. Always appreciated.**

**Tinnuial: lol, yep. I AM CANADIAN!!! Happy that you're enjoying it so much. Enjoy the next chapter.**

**Ningwen: I'm glad you approve That last chapter was actually really fun to write. Here's the next chapter.**

**DreaminofLorien: Yeah! Celeborn rocks! Lol. I'm glad you like it so much. I wish I could update more often too, but look at it this way; the longer I take, the better the chapter.**


	7. chapter 6

  
  
**Disclaimer: The lord of the Rings, and the characters associated with it are not mine, and are strictly property of J.R.R. Tolkien.  
  
CH.6**

**()()()()  
**  
Galadriel could feel eyes upon her as she pressed a damp cloth over the Balrog slayer's fevered brow. She had sensed them for a while now, and had attempted to ignore them, yet it became increasingly difficult to do so when they continued to bore into her, and though she did not show it, she became increasingly uncomfortable with the unwanted attention.  
  
It was not that she was unaccustomed to being gaped at, oh no, on the contrary. There had been many, mortals in particular, whom had been captivated by her beauty, much like an insect attracted to a ray of light.  
  
But these were not just gazes of awe and curiosity she now received, no, she sensed something much more wicked from these men; a carnal lust which would not be dissuaded.  
  
The power of Nenya had diminished long ago, as had the other Elven rings, shortly after the War of the Ring. And after losing such power that she had become so familiar with for most of her young life, it had been a difficult recovery to heal from, not knowing what people could feel or sense. But she was not completely without her instincts either, and though she no longer possessed the power of Nenya, there still were those times when she could sense a certain foreboding... and she could certainly sense some great animosity from these humans.  
  
She gently soothed the fallen Warrior as he groaned in his sleep, lulling his head to the side. Elrond had managed to remove the silver dome-shaped arrow from his body, stitching the wound securely closed. At first, the Elf Lord had been worried that he would have to singe the wound closed by flame with a heated knife, the wound seemed so great, but that was not the case.  
  
Though the seneschal had eventually lost consciousness through the procedure, perhaps that had been best. Blood no longer flowed from the wound, and though he was still feverish, the golden haired Elf was now regaining his strength in a fitful healing sleep.  
  
There was a light shift to the side of her, and she calmly turned her head to catch the worrisome eyes of Erestor gazing at his injured companion. "How does he fare, my Lady?"  
  
"You need not worrit your mind, Erestor," the She-Elf replied kindly. "He is no longer in danger of losing his life. He is hale."  
  
"He was in the throes of agony ere he lost consciousness," the Councillor mumbled as he stared down at his friend, recalling how he and the others were forced to hold him down while Elrond and Galadriel had operated. "I daresay I have not seen him in such pain for the many years I've known him, and oft I have seen him wounded, either in battle, or by simple stupidity. What could have possibly caused him such grief?"  
  
The Lady of the Golden Wood said nothing at first, but instead reached to the side of her and picked up a thin, transparent bag and handed it to the advisor. Erestor took it curiously, fingering the glossy material with interest, and peered at the small object enclosed within it.  
  
It was indeed dome-shaped, or at least it had been. The tip now looked as if it had melted slightly on impact. The object was made from iron, he was certain of that as he squeezed it through the material.  
  
"It is curious," he muttered more to himself, than to his company, as he continued to examine the tiny weapon. "That so small an object could inflict so much damage."  
  
"Why create a thing so deadly?" Legolas contemplated aloud. "What could men possibly need to defend themselves against with such brutality?"  
  
"Each other," Elrond said simply. "The race of men has always desired power. And they would stop at nothing to achieve their goal, even if it means felling their own."  
  
"Not all men are thus," the woodland Prince argued. He had befriended many humans in his youth, and he could not possibly believe that they were naught but savage killers.  
  
"No," The loremaster agreed. "But they are not incapable of doing so."  
  
"No race is incapable of killing their own kin," Galadriel chimed with sorrow. "My own forebears have already proven this fact."  
  
"That is irrelevant now," Celeborn stated firmly, resting a hand upon his wife's slim shoulder. "That happened long ago, and we have learned from our past mistakes. Do not dwell on them now."  
  
"The Kin slaying was a tragic event," Gandalf retorted, who until now had been in silent reverie. "But without our past trials we cannot learn from them to avoid such mishaps in the future. No one here blames you for your kin's mistakes, Galadriel."  
  
"Nay, this I know," she then directed her gaze to the youngest of their company, their blue eyes meeting in silent questioning. "And what of you, _Thranduilion_? 'Tis no secret that your sire harbored ill feelings towards me for this event."  
  
Legolas was not at all surprised by the question. Over the centuries he had learnt of the Sindar's dislike for their Noldrin brothers. After the Kinslaying they had become bitter towards one another, though the Silven Prince was born far after the event. He had learnt never to judge a person on first impression, if his friendship with Elrond's sons' had proven anything, and all those years ago when the fellowship had traveled to Lothlorien, the Lady of the Wood had shown them naught but kindness.  
  
"My father's opinions are his own, my Lady. I, in no way share them. You haven't-"  
  
The Elf's sentence was cut short by a shout from the young man in charge of the party of humans. It was apparent that he was angry as he all but barked at the Elves with a sneer, and though they could not understand his words, it was obvious that he was demanding silence of them.  
  
When the human had finished his rant, he threw one last glare in the Elves direction as he leaned his body back-first onto the ground, using one of his packs as a makeshift-pillow. He clutched a dagger firmly onto his chest, and several of his company followed his lead and did likewise, while the rest merely sat casually on the ground.  
  
"They are going to sleep," the Maia murmured, ever so lightly that only Elven ears could hear his words.  
  
"Aye," Celeborn replied just as quietly, his own eyes searching out the group of men. "But some of them remain awake. I do not believe it wise to essay an escape. Our chances of fleeing at this point are little."  
  
"Have faith, my friend. We have faced far greater circumstances in the past, and have come out victorious. This shall be no different."  
  
"Mayhap, but that does little to assuage me. Whither this journey shall lead us, I know not. Only fate can decide, now."  
  
"I cannot foresee what is to happen to us," Gandalf eventually said after a moment of silence. The circumstances had taken its toll on the Elf Lord, as it had them all, and it was only natural that they would be grievant. They had lost their home and families, and now were encompassed by these people with little means of escape. But the Wizard knew, somehow in his heart, that they were meant to subsist, as difficult as it would be. "But I can tell you that we will survive. I know we shall. We did not pass through the destruction of Valinor, nor the tidal of the waters to die now."  
  
The silver haired Elf said nothing after that, but instead released a barely audible sigh as his gaze lifted to the heavens, watching each individual star blink absently.  
  
For a long time, they sat in silence, each occupied by their own thoughts, only occasionally broken by a light moan or whimper from the injured Balrog Slayer.  
  
Those eyes again. Galadriel could feel them more intently now, boring into the side of her head. From where she sat over her patient keeping careful vigilance, she glanced out of the corner of her right eye towards one of the humans. This particular one wore a turban about his head, and his beard was not all that thick. He was young, no more than in his early twenties, and yet she could sense no youthful innocence from him whatsoever. No, it seemed that this young man had lost that long ago. There was no remorse or compassion in his dark eyes, only the will to harm... but also, she saw awe in them, which of course was not uncommon for a human whom had never beheld an Elf.  
  
She boldly turned her head to meet the man's gaze, and he unflinchingly stared back. Indeed there was awe in his eyes, though he did well to hide it. And also there was that darkness she could almost feel within him. This boy had killed many times without remorse, and had never once showed mercy. But Galadriel was not intimidated by him in the least, on the contrary. She felt pity for him. She was not so certain she would have liked to learn how this young man had become the cold blooded killer that he now was.  
  
The human apparently could see the pity in her eyes, and he did not like it. He stood then, never breaking eye contact with the fair lady, and stalked towards her.  
  
The gathered Elves looked up in unison as he enclosed upon them, their shoulders unseeingly tensing in preparation to defend themselves. The surrounding men whom were not asleep had their weapons fixed warningly on their captives, and Gandalf's company had no choice but to remain where they sat as Galadriel was hauled up roughly by the arrogant youth.  
  
She did not cry out, nor make any noise of protest, but instead stared challengingly into the boy's eyes. For a long moment, he stared back at her, his gaze transfixed on her unearthly blue eyes, before reaching up a bold hand and dared to caress her fair face. Only then did she react, shying away from the violating hand, but her jaw was then grabbed firmly as her attacker leaned forward.  
  
A look that none had ever seen flared in Celeborn's ancient eyes as he witnessed the violation of his wife, and for a moment, Elrond was nearly certain that his normally calm and composed father-in-law would jump up and tear the man's throat out as he felt him tense up beside him, though the silver haired Elf maintained his stoic demeanor. That is, until the human forcefully pressed his lips over Galadriel's own.  
  
The Man was sprawled upon the ground faster than his comrades could react, red rivulets oozing from his flaring nostrils and lower lip. And as he slowly propped himself up on one elbow with a groan, he glared up at the silver haired Eldar towering over him, though his attention was fixed on his wife.  
  
"Are you all right, my dear?" The Elf lord crooned to his wife gently, holding her tenderly by the shoulders and looking her up and down for injury.  
  
"Aye," the she-Elf replied, her eyes quickly flashing around her as the conscious guards closed up around them. They were clearly angered by the strike her husband had delivered to their companion, and Gandalf and the other Elves, minus Glorfindel, stood protectively, ready to defend themselves. "Celeborn... you should not have done that."  
  
To say that she had been surprised by her husband's reaction would have been an understatement. Never before had he acted so rashly. Of course, never before had he witnessed someone force themselves upon her either.  
  
By now, the youth that the Lothlorien lord had struck had regained his footing, and he glared hatefully at the immortal before him. With a menacing growl, he lunged at the regal Elf, and Celeborn was knocked off balance with a thump as he struck the earth.  
  
The ancient Elf easily rolled the human off him, and it was then that a one on one brawl between Elf and Man began.  
  
Galadriel could not recall seeing her mate participate in any serious form of hand to hand combat, other than the training of some inexperienced young soldier, and the sight of him now, rolling around in the dirt, throwing and receiving blows certainly did not become the noble, regal lord she was accustomed to.  
  
The commotion easily awoke the dozing Al-Qaeda from their slumber, and with a series of shouts, the men were up with their weapons posed, though they did not shoot.  
  
Gandalf nor the other Elves could interfere with the long weapons fixed upon them. It was unlikely that they would shoot, but taking the chance would be reckless and could easily cost one of them their lives.  
  
Celeborn's body was thrown into some shrubs as the boy kicked him off his own person, and he quickly jumped to his feet and tackled the Elf Lord, their two bodies tumbling down a small hill, but in the end, it was the First-Born whom kneeled hovering over the human, and away from torch-light in the darkened night, a glowing aura seemed to surround his immortal body that could not be seen before.  
  
Only then, seeing this unearthly being above him, a glowing blue light about this creature, did the youth panic. His eyes grew wide with fear, and at first his throat seemed to constrict, sound seeming incapable of escaping as he gazed up into the glowing Elven eyes. Several struggling gasps escaped him, before he managed to do the only thing he was momentarily capable of doing. He screamed.

()()()()  
  
**(A/N): Sorry if Celeborn seemed a little OOC. I just couldn't picture him doing nothing while witnessing some guy taking advantage of his wife.  
  
Elvish Translations:  
  
Thranduilion: Son of Thranduil  
  
Reviews:  
  
Ningwen: Oh most definitely! I will keep writing.  
  
Regnet: Well, hopefully you haven't gone insane yet, but if you have, hopefully this chapter has calmed you down.  
  
Xiad Rusco: Oooh, I've got a real twist in store for them, but you'll have to wait and see.  
  
The-burglar: No problem, and I'm glad you like the story.  
  
Kaye Thorn: Happy you like my writing, and don't worry, I've stopped using the 'sadden orbs' thing at the request of one of my readers. LOL, eventually this will get more interesting. It just has to lead up, first.  
  
DreaminofLorien: Yes, poor Fin. Gotta love him. Thanks, I will.  
**


	8. chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own 'the Lord of the Rings', 'The Silmarillion', or any of the characters associated with either book. Credit belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.**

**Ch.8**

For several, long days, Gandalf and his Elven companions traveled with their Al-Qaeda captors in the back of the stuffy, old truck. They had stopped several times to fill the vehicle, what they had discovered as the main source of the contraption's power, with fuel. These times had been the only chance for them to eat what little rations they were given, and to relieve themselves of bodily demands.

They were growing restless, to say the least, at being confined to a cramped box-like room for days on end, and Erestor's apparent discovery of motion sickness was not helping matters at all. Elves were immortal beings, impervious to illness, and the feeling of a churning stomach combined with the raging heat inside the truck was a most unpleasant experience for the Councillor. And though he could not truly see their surroundings passing by him, other than the shadows of the trees reflecting on the tarp, he could most certainly feel the movement.

Glorfindel was faring little better. Though his wound had plenty time to heal, the humidity that the close body heat emitted irritated the life out of his feverish skin. Elrond had become ever more concerned, for though these men obviously did not want them dead, even now that they knew them for what they truly were, the wounded warrior's bandage dressings were only permitted to be changed every so often, risking chance of greater infection.

Through the long rides Celeborn had kept a protective arm about his wife, challengingly glaring at any soldier who so much as glanced at her the wrong way. Galadriel, herself, purposely ignored the stares, not out of fear, but simple annoyance.

Gandalf's countenance was unmoving as ever. While he did not look troubled with their current circumstance, those who knew him could tell otherwise. His eyes were unfocused, a sign that he was deep in thought, about what, none could tell, but it most likely revolved around a plan to escape.

As for Legolas, he simply kept his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped loosely around them, and a stony mask of aggravation upon his face. He would not admit it, but the whole ride in general bothered him. The smell that generated from the machine was close to intolerable, the vibration of the floor beneath him was uncomfortable, and the humming noise it emitted was irritating to no end. His body jarred whenever they drove over a bump, and the persistent humidity in the enclosure, which would never normally bother an Elf, vexed him as well.

There was no comparison between this machine and an Elven steed. While horses were graceful, sure-footed creatures, this contraption was clumsy and indelicate.

The Elven prince chanced a glance across him to meet the exhausted facial features of the Peredhel. Elrond had gotten very little rest during the drive, too concerned for his injured companion to leave his side. The weariness in the Elf Lord's face was more apparent than he had ever seen, and his concern was slowly mounting.

"Elrond, please, you must rest." He finally said.

The Loremaster's eyes seemed to focus at the air of concern in the younger Elf's voice, and he lifted his gaze from the seneschal's to look at him, and a hand raising as if to brush off the request. "Oh, I'll be alright, Legolas. Do not worry yourself over me."

"But I _do_ worry. You mustn't continue doing this to yourself, _please_," A barking hush from one of the Men interrupted him, and after a second passed by, Legolas continued in more of a whisper. "I will watch over him for you. You can do little for him if you, yourself, are not rested."

"Legolas," the Noldo sighed, "I--"

His next words died on his lips, for the company felt the large vehicle pull to a screeching stop. While Gandalf's eyes became focused, the Elves straightened up in anticipation, and were forced to their feet by their captors. The tarp was thrown up, allowing bright rays of sunshine to beam into the back of the truck, momentarily blinding them as the Elves were forced out of the entrance. Once they blinked away the sun's blinding light, they stood in place, awestruck at the surroundings about them.

They appeared to be in an encampment of some sort, with similar large machines that they had traveled in, driving about the sand paved ground. Large white tents were erected in several areas, with many Men, those like the ones who had captured them, wandering the area, each performing a different task. Large, wooden gates surrounded the encampment, a guard posted at each watchtower.

There was a single brick structure in a corner of the gate, its shape a large rectangle, and its windows barred. Legolas was briefly reminded of a dungeon cell, however something else quickly caught his attention, something that caused chills to travel up his very spine.

Apart from the tents along the settlement walls stood long pikes stuck into the ground, and on each one's edge human heads were mounted, blood running down the shafts at where they had been severed. The beheading of each person had been recent, that was sure enough, and wide, lifeless eyes stared out into nothingness.

Erestor's hand quickly fled to hold his churning stomach at the sight of one of the bodiless figures, this one of a young girl who bore slanted dark eyes and long, dark hair against sickeningly pale flesh, no older than nine years old. He found himself struggling to steady his breathing as he glanced heatedly at their captors. These Men were naught but cold blooded killers if they could so easily take the life of a child.

Legolas, too, found himself attempting to suppress his rage, his breaths coming out in quick, short gasps, but as one of the Al-Qaeda soldiers mounted another head on a peg, this one a boy around the age of fourteen, the Sinda Elf quickly found himself struggling against his captors, managing to strike one of them in the face and causing him to fall to the ground. But as he attempted to shake off his other captors hands, paying little heed to Gandalf's, and the other Elves pleas for him to desist, one of the soldiers managed to gain their hold on him, and Legolas quickly found himself pinned to the ground by three pairs of hands.

Unable to move his head for the one hand holding it to the ground, He looked up through the corner of his eyes at the Men, his lips parted in almost a snarl, revealing perfect white teeth. He was aware of the commotion around them, and the Men who shouted angrily at him, but he cared little. His arms, which were restrained at his back, were used to pull himself to his knees, only for a boot to kick him in the stomach, and his body instinctively tried to curl about himself as the air was forced from his lungs.

Before the Woodland prince had a chance to recuperate, he was hauled to his feet and the six Elves and the Wizard were guided to the holding cell, and roughly thrown inside before the large iron door was swung shut.

The chamber was dark even for Elven vision, and the only light the room was afforded with was the small barred window at the side. The smell of fear permeated in the musky air, as well as the tangy scent of blood and bodily fluids mingled with a haunted foreboding. Something dreadful had happened in here, and each of them was reluctant to find out what.

"This place reeks of terror," the Lady of the Golden Wood murmured as she almost blindly gazed around the dingy cell. The others clearly shared her thoughts, and they gracefully gained their footing as their eyes scanned along the brick walls.

Erestor patted his hands along the surroundings, searching for a weak point, and after finding none, tested the strength of the door, with little results. "There is no way out. What are we to do now, Mithrandir?"

The Istar did not answer at first, his eyes too busy regarding the barriers around them. "Had I my staff I could easily free ourselves. Alas, it is no longer in my possession. We will have to figure out another way to escape."

"'Tis pointless," the advisor moaned. "We are doomed to die here."

"Nay!" Legolas exclaimed. "I will not die here, like this. We will find a way to escape. We must!"

"Legolas is right," Celeborn agreed, "we have not survived thus far to give up all hope now."

"Aye," Elrond sighed as he tended to the still sitting Glorfindel. The Gondolin veteran was now very much awake, but the jolt to his body had aggravated his wound, and his brow was lightly drenched in perspiration. "We must be patient. An opportunity will come to us, given time."

"I am worried that we may not have much time left," Erestor muttered.

The Elf Lord shared a brief stare with his Councillor, but did not comment on the dismal remark. Instead he simply turned back to his seneschal and motioned for Legolas to help lift him, and together he and the fair haired Sylven Elf guided him over to the wall where the window was, propping the Warrior's back up against it so that the Loremaster could better examine the wound.

Gandalf secretly shared the Major-domo's concern, though he dared not speak of it. To mention so would cause his Elven comrades to lose hope, and he was not willing to darken their bright souls with such drivel. The Valar had saved them for a reason, he was certain of it, and he refused to give in to despair just yet.

For hours the seven companions sat in echoing silence in the dark cell, their ears picking up sounds that made their way to the small window. Men were talking in their guttural tongue, and the loud humming of the great horseless carriages groaned out into the cool air. The chamber began to dull further as the setting sun escaped from view, the bright stars and waxing moon taking her place in the dark sky.

The night was cool, and a light breeze wafted in the air, and with it carried the scent of the coming autumn. Crickets could be heard chirping proudly, and in the far distance wolves could be heard baying at the moon.

It was surprising that any of them had been able to get any rest that night, and after hours of sitting in wakeful silence, each had managed to drift into a light sleep, everyone save Elrond.

Whether he was suffering from insomnia or simply a troubled mind, he did not know, but he just could not sleep while being held captive by these brutal humans. It had been horrific seeing the heads of those once living beings displayed on pikes like simple decoration. So long had he lived in the peaceful land of Valinor that Elrond had nearly forgotten that such violence existed, but now battles centuries old that no Man would ever remember escaped long forgotten memories of his mind.

These Men were no better than Orcs. Cunning though they were, their hearts were just as black and merciless, and part of him feared that very soon his own head, as well as those of his comrades, would join the severed heads outside on stakes of their own. No... he would get no rest tonight, and so he sat beneath the window with moonshine reflecting down on his frowning features, tired, ancient eyes gazing into nothingness on thoughts of what would come to pass.

**(A/N): For those of you who like to draw, I would very much appreciate a drawing from any of you of the characters in this story that I could post on my website. Much obliged. **

**Ash**

**REVIEWS: **

**INMH: Glad you like it, sorry this update took so long. **

**cAJUNpIPPINpIRATE: lol, you wrecked a truck? Ah well, I remember when I was first learning to drive... nearly crashed my dad's $24,000 daytona sports car into a post... accidents happen, lol. Happy to hear you're enjoying it so far.**

**DreaminofLorien: Wow, thanks a bunch. I do try my hardest to keep them all in character. And you're right, ELVES ROCK!!! LoL. This is taken place a few years after Sept. 11, how many will be revealed further on in the story. Glad you're enjoying it.**

**Ningwen: Thank you. I wrote this chapter as soon as I could. A little too short and not enough detail in my opinion, but I figured you guys waited long enough. **


	9. chapter 9

**Disclaimer: The lord of the Rings, and the characters associated with it are not mine, and are strictly property of J.R.R. Tolkien.**

**CH 9**

**oOoOoOo**

The cell door slowly creaked open as the blinding light of Anor streamed through the agape arch, revealing the silhouettes of three dark figures just outside the murky confinement. The Elven captives quickly jerked awake by the abrupt entry, and their attention was immediately diverted to the Men as they strode into the chamber.

They were heavily armed, weapons held readily in front of them and dark eyes wide and observing. There was no fear in them, only a superior arrogance that demanded obedience and respect. And when they came to a halt before the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, their rifles trained, they had little choice but to do what they were demanded of.

The Elven lady was forced to her feet by a rough hand on her slim arm, but when the silver-haired monarch shifted to follow his beloved wife, eyes filled with worry, he was forcefully pushed back before he was barely able to lift himself up from the ground.

"Galadriel…" The Elf Lord started.

"Celeborn, no," She quickly rebutted as she was lead out the door. "Do nothing foolish, I will be alright."

Before a response could be formed, the door was securely shut, and Galadriel beyond her husband's reach. Indecision was clearly written across Celeborn's fair face, and his eyes darted back and forth around the room in rapid succession uncertain as to what he should do. Part of him wanted to charge at the door, and fight against it until he broke through, yet the other logical part feared what retribution he and his companions might suffer should he be caught doing something so foolish.

He suddenly felt the urge to weep, borne from both the worry for his beloved, and out of the frustration he had suffered ever since being captured and imprisoned like wild animals by these confounded _Edain_. He buried his head in a hand with a sigh, thumb and forefinger slowly massaging his pulsing temples.

"Celeborn," Mithrandir's gruff voice murmured in the resounding silence of the spacious cell. "are you well?"

"No, Gandalf," he finally replied after a lingering moment of silence. "I am not well, nor do I think I will be for a long time. I only pray to Eru that no harm comes to her and that she will be alright."

"Lady Galadriel is strong. I do not think she will be so easily daunted by these Men."

"This I know, though your words do little to comfort me."

"I know," the Wizard sighed. "but I can do little more."

"Confound these _Edain_ to the deepest levels of _Udun_!" Celeborn spat before he stood from the cold cement floor, and he began to pace the expanse of the room as his aggravation mounted. "We must find a way out! But how we may do this, I know not."

"Then mayhap this is a good time to figure it out," Elrond countered. "Do not allow your worry for your lady to overcome you, Celeborn. We need your wisdom, and you will be of little use if your mind is overclouded by grief. We must solve this riddle, and soon." That said, the former Lord of Rivendell beckoned over his comrades, and together they sat in a small ring in contemplation, voicing ideas that perhaps would aid their escape.

For a long time they sat, debating on their course of action, yet no idea seemed plausible enough. But they were a determined bunch, and none were willing to give up. They were the last of their kind, and after all these many millennia of existence, they were not willing to fade now in this dreary place, among such dark hearted creatures.

"Well," Erestor sighed. "we know we cannot fight our way out. That much is obvious. A single shot from their weapons could quite possibly kill us."

"Perhaps not," pondered Legolas aloud, and the others turned their heads to look at him questioningly. "You, yourself, have said as much, Gandalf. These Men do not want us dead. We could attempt to fight our way out… though we are greatly outnumbered and our chances of success are extremely slim."

"Aye," the Istar replied. "however, it is quite possible that they captured us simply to seek information of some sort, information we neither possess nor are capable of giving. Once they realize that we are useless to them they may not hesitate to kill us."

"And let us not forget Glorfindel," Elrond proceeded. "He has not yet the strength to defend himself were we to plan a revolt."

"Which leads us right back from whence we started," Celeborn said. "How do we escape?"

"A diversion,"

All eyes turned to the wounded figure slouched against the wall as his raspy voice, normally strong and powerful, muttered the quiet words.

"If we were to divert their attention, somehow," Glorfindel elaborated. "we could quite possibly make our escape,"

"Yes," the silver haired Eldar replied. "Yes, I see what you mean. If we could somehow attract their attention away from us, it could be our means of liberation."

"Precisely,"

"How do you propose we do that?" Erestor asked, and the seneschal sighed.

"I do not yet know."

"Well, then," the Wizard said. "we best figure out a way."

**oOoOoOo**

There words were harsh and demanding as they spat at her, commanding things of her she could not understand, and desperately she tried to block out the taunting voices around her. But she could not escape their sadistic words.

From the moment they had dragged her from the cell she had tried to avoid their rugged manhandling, as well as their inappropriate touches. They had lead her from the brick structure, and into one of the larger tents among the center of the leaguer. As they walked, she carefully scrutinized her surroundings. The dried dirt her elegant feet padded across had once been rich soil covered in grass not long ago, now destroyed by inadequate care and much treading. The pikes of the human heads she had seen mounted yesterday were still present in their original places, now festering with flies, and her heart quelled in remorse for the lost lives. Young boys, she saw, were being instructed by several of their elders, scaling odd obstacle courses, while others practiced their aim with the long, tube-like weapons these people carried on a shooting range. She closed her eyes as her heart ached further still, for she knew that these children were being trained to be just like their seniors; vicious killers without remorse. The Men's mechanical mounts created a rising cloud of dust as they noisily rode across the bare terrain. Many Men strode across the large encampment as they did the day before, each occupied with their own task. It then occurred to her that no women were on the premises, none that she had seen, at least.

However, this place was not entirely void. Beyond the large log fences that separated the barracks from the outer world, the Elven lady's crystalline orbs caught sight of the land of rich grass and deep forest. Hale trees reached up towards the sky, their colorful leaves creating a magnificent array of red and golden showers as the wind carried them to the ground. A slight disturbance in the far off grove caught her eye, however, as a murder of crows took flight from the protective branches.

The sting of a harsh slap to her face brought Galadriel back to her present situation, and a surprised gasp left her full lips as a delicate hand rose to cup her swollen cheek, and she glared challengingly at the Man before her.

He was a fair size, slightly robust with a bearded chin, eyes dark as night and hardened with insolence, though the effects of mortality were visible on him, as well. Spots of grey ran through his facial hair, and though the sheet covering his head obscured it from vision, she had no doubt that his dark tresses appeared similar. Deep wrinkles surrounded his eyes as he sneered upon her, and his hands were gaunt and bony.

Whomever he was, there was no doubt within Galadriel's mind that he was a person of great importance. His comrades showed great respect towards him, and his aura alone seemed to demand veneration.

Astride from him was the lead young Man who had assisted in their capture. His garb was now changed to more casual clothing, she noticed, though his petulant expression remained as he bore a leer upon his face, his arms crossed firmly in front of him.

Two of the soldiers who had brought her to the tent remained, as well, posted at either side of the entrance. One was several years past his prime. The other, however, was young and slightly on the hefty side. Galadriel imagined he was at most in his early twenties, possibly younger. He was different from the rest, somehow. Whether it was the lack of facial hair, or the sympathy in his eyes, she could not clearly gather. Her eyes quickly diverted back to the apparent chief.

As she regarded him closely, he snapped several words at her in his blunt, commanding tongue, and then he paused as if expecting her to speak.

"I know not what you are saying," the Elven Lady attempted, her facial features straight, and all too serious. "Nor do I know how to respond in your language."

Her last words had barely left her lips when she was struck again by a rough hand, this one much harsher than the last, knocking her off balance and to the ground. A pained moan left her mouth, barely audible to human ears, as she staggered to her hands and knees after taking a moment to focus her vision.

Yet before she was allowed to regain her footing, she was ruthlessly grabbed by both her arms and held still by the young captain and the elder guard while their Chief unsheathed a knife tied to his belt. He then held the flat of it against the flawless skin of her neck, before lightly drawing it down further, leaving a long welt in its path, drawing little blood. The blade then dipped to the cleavage of her gown, but slowly halted there, and the Man gazed at her, reaching up a hand to run it over a swollen cheekbone almost in a possessive nature.

It was then that the golden lady realized she was very frightened, and her head flinched away from the invading tendrils as she fought against her racing heart and panting, short breaths, though her expression held little fear, and she glared heatedly at her captor. She was uncertain what was to happen to her, but she would not allow these foul monsters to tarnish her spirit.

Galadriel would not be broken.

**oOoOoOo**

_Anor: Sun_

_Edain: Men_

_Udun: Hell_

**oOoOoOo**

**REVIEWS: **

**INMH: lol.. Sorry to disappoint you, hun… In know I took my sweet $$ time with this chapter. Sorry about that… and don't worry, I doubt you could be any sicker of a puppy then me :P**

**ArcherofDarkness: lol, oh, okay.. I'm not too fond of cars, myself.. though for other reasons… too much pollution. Thank you :D That means a lot to me. I've worked hard on this fic. But It's not so much that they're afraid of the al-qaeda, but very aware of what they're capable of doing. Don't get me wrong, they are weary of them, though Sauron would still be a hell of a lot scarier. As for meeting Bin Laden, no, they won't. He's not in that sector. I would imagine that he would be in the US if this were ever to happen. Take care.**

**Randa-Chan: Hi, and thank you for your wonderful comment. Sorry this took so long, this month has been very hectic. I'm sorry about your aunt. That must have been terrible. Hope this chapter makes you feel a bit better. **

**Ningwen: Hey, good luck with that marching contest, and don't worry about the short review. Yeah, I know… I'm bad, lol. **

**LadyMilana: Thank you. Yes, I know the stereotyping would be a bit offensive, which is why I put up a warning beforehand. Thanks for that, though I pretty much know what the Al-Qaeda is. If they were to attempt to take over the world they would need sets in each area, which is what I'm getting at. Don't worry, things will become clearer as the story progresses, including where exactly this is taking place. But you'll have to wait to find out :P**

**Xiad Rusco: Thank you! That would be very much appreciated! :D And thanks for your web address. Sure I'll be an affiliate… just tell me what I have to do, lol. **

**DreaminofLorien: Yeah, I couldn't picture Legolas any other way than a respected young Elf Lord who values all life, and rules justly with a fair hand. What really drew me to Legolas, (in the book, before the movies came out) was his child-like nature. He's of a race more ancient than any other, and yet he can still be surprised and in awe of things, and has a curiosity much like a little kid. As for my favourite character… well, I have several of them, mainly Elrond, Legolas, Glorfindel, and Gandalf. Aragorn's pretty cool too, and I adore the movie version of Pippin. **


	10. chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own 'the Lord of the Rings', 'The Silmarillion', or any of the characters associated with either book. Credit belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.**

**(A/N): Happy Holidays!! Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, and everything else! Here's just a little present from me. Enjoy!**

**oOoOoOo**

**CH 10**

Celeborn's bright Elven eyes stared blankly out the cell window, his mind preoccupied with worried thoughts of his wife. It had been well over a day, and Galadriel had still not been returned to the musky chamber. His companions were speaking, still trying to come up with a way to escape, but their words went by unnoticed to him.

He needed her. With the destruction of Valinor came the death of many friends and family, that including his only dear daughter. If he were to lose Galadriel as well, he would have nothing more to hold him to this world.

He tried desperately to be strong, if only for his comrades' sakes. Still, it was difficult to concentrate on anything knowing one's spouse could very well be in mortal danger. He caught the odd sentence here or there, but it barely registered within his mind.

Erestor was now speaking, and he sounded somewhat annoyed. "It's preposterous, they won't believe us!"

"We must make them believe," Elrond countered. "Our lives depend on this, and we've nothing else to go by."

"And how, pray tell, do we attract their attention?"

"Simple," said Legolas. "We create a false confrontation. Make much noise and act as though we are trying to assail one another. The ruckus should draw them here"

"Ridiculous!" the chief councilor cried. "It-- it's ludicrous, a most positively childish thing to do!"

"Have you a better idea?"

"No, but—"

"It's the only chance we've got, Erestor." Glorfindel intervened.

The dark haired Noldo blanched, his words coming out sputtered before he could form a proper sentence, which in turn was muttered only to himself. "Suicidal fools, all of them. Eru save us."

"Now that that's sorted out," Gandalf replied, "who is to act as the willing bait?"

"I will do it," Legolas said after a moment's hesitation. "It was my idea, after all,"

"Are you certain, Legolas?" the Wizard asked slowly. "This is no game. You've no weapons to protect you, while the enemy has much and would not hesitate to use it."

"I am aware of that," the Sylven Elf said tersely. "I have already considered the consequences, Mithrandir. I am no fool."

"Very well," the Istari sighed. "Later we will…" his voice trailed off as the sound of approaching foot steps made their presence known, and all occupants of the room, even Celeborn, turned their heads to the opening door.

The evening sun shone down upon three figures, the middle one supported by the other two by the arms, and before the Wizard and the Elves could rise the battered figure of the Lady was carelessly shoved into the prison. She didn't even have the strength left to support her own weight, and fell face-first to the cold floor.

"Galadriel!" Celeborn cried as he scrambled over to her, immediately taking her into his strong arms and carefully scrutinizing her appearance, lips parted. Bruises and cuts marred her normally flawless body, her gown torn and openly gaping in several places revealing more wounds. She was bleeding, and her long eyelashes fanned across her pale cheeks in unconsciousness.

"Oh…" The Elf Lord buried his face into the head of golden curls, matted in blood and dirt, and his body trembled as he silently sobbed, holding her tightly. He was barely aware of the footsteps that raced after him, as well as the gentle hand on his shoulder while a voice pleaded with him to present the lady's body.

"Celeborn, please," Elrond implored, "I must tend to her injuries before they are beyond my aid."

"What could you possibly do?" he gasped. "We've no herbs or supplies."

"No," the dark-haired Elf agreed, "but I can stem any bleeding if need be. Now bring her thither by the light."

The silver-haired Lord did as he was bid, first removing his own robe and wrapping it around his motionless wife's body, leaving him clad in leggings and a silver shirt, before gently picking her up and carrying her beneath the window, the only source of light being the dying ember of the evening sky.

The remaining company respectfully left the two lord's to their privacy as they tended Galadriel. They had seen enough for themselves to know what had happened to her, and each of them felt their blood run cold at the sight.

Elrond's lips were drawn in a grim line, his annoyance truly visible on his face as he gently prodded the Lady of the Wood's prone form. Old memories haunted him as he performed his task, and he was vaguely reminded of the similar circumstances his dear Celebrian had suffered. It was rather ironic in his mind that mother and daughter had eventually come to suffer the same fate, only this time it was by the hand of Man, and not orcs, that had bestowed this cruel deed, had tortured this pure woman, and no longer was there the sanctity of Valinor that Galadriel could turn to. He only hoped that she would not suffer the same trauma that his own wife had, and he feared for her if it were indeed to be so.

The bottom of Celeborn's robe was torn, and Elrond used the strips to cleanse and bind the wounds masking the Lady's flesh. What remained of it was used as a blanket to keep her warm.

"Will she be alright, do you suppose?" Legolas whispered as he glanced across to them for a moment.

"She will," Glorfindel replied firmly, "she must be. There are too few of us left."

Even in her unconscious state, Galadriel remained ever tense, and even if it were not clearly visible to the naked eye, it was blatantly obvious through physical contact. She even managed to flinch in her comatose state as Elrond gently examined the welt on her cheek.

There was little more he could do afterwards, and so he left her in the comfort of her worried husband, and he held her close as she slept, and he remained thus until she awoke.

"How does she fare, Elrond?" The Wizard asked as the Noldo Elf returned to their side, and they all could clearly see both the worry, as well as the exhaustion in his wise grey eyes.

With a shake of his head he sighed, folding his arms and leaning against the stone wall. "It could have been far worse, I don't believe there will be any everlasting effects. I am still concerned over her mental anguish, however. I fear the emotional trauma may be severe. We can only hope the after-affects will fade in time."

"It does not seem like the Lady to fear aught," Legolas murmured, "to me, it has always seemed as though… as though she is indomitable."

"She does carry that air about her," Gandalf agreed. "We must have faith in her. She can overcome this with our support, I believe."

Elrond looked less convinced over Mithrandir's optimism, though he did not voice his thoughts. He had seen far too much in his long millennia to raise his hopes over mere yearning, and though many Elves often carried a saddened aura about them, the Rivendell Lord's was, perhaps, stronger than most. He had lost many loved ones recounted from his earliest years, and had seen much destruction. Disappointment was not an uncommon concept to him.

He did not have time to contemplate much further, however, before the door re-opened not long after, and the same two guards trudged in while a third remained in the doorway, rifle readied. The Men randomly grabbed one of the Elves, in this case Erestor, by the shoulders and lead him towards the exit.

"Confound it all," the counsellor muttered as he was lead down the same path that Galadriel had earlier trod. He grunted as he was shoved, and glared at the man through the corner of his eye as he was ushered to quicken his pace.

The on-goings in the encampment under the setting sun caught his attention, and like the Lady, the brutality of the circumstances weighed upon his heart. The pikes in the ground still stood with the bodiless figures mounted on top, and insects seemed to swarm from every decaying crevice of the rotting flesh. The sight of the putrid face of the young child was no less disturbing then when he had first seen her.

Questions raced through his mind as he gazed upon them. Who were they? What were their names? Who were their families? And above all else, what had they done to warrant such a gruesome end?

He wondered, perhaps if this was some sort of sacrificial ritual, but quickly dismissed the thought. Somehow, he imagined such a ceremony to be a little more ornamental. But if not that, then what? Surely no child was capable of warranting such a punishment, unless perhaps these Edain believed, in their foolishness, the girl was possessed or some similar reason. Men were often very superstitious, and took such endeavors strongly to heart. A positively foolish notion to him, indeed.

They halted at the entranceway of a large tent, and as the guard and their leader exchanged words, a movement several miles away caught the Elf's eye, and as the clarity dawned upon him, he felt the burning taste of bile rise in his throat.

Children, not even half grown, were being trained in the art of combat. They held real weapons in their small limbs, being taught how to aim and shoot by several adults. They were being taught how to kill, and one day they would grow into savage murderers just like their elders. The revelation made him ill, and it took all his will to fight against the sickness that threatened to rise in his stomach.

He barely caught himself as he stumbled into the entrance of the tent, the harsh shove coming unexpected and taking him by surprise. Looking before him, he caught the cold eyes of his former captor. Beside him was an older man, steadily scrutinizing his appearance.

Erestor was suddenly grabbed by an arm and was pulled forward, the older man's eyes glaring boldly into his own. The other hand roughly fisted into long, dark hair, and a pointed ear was revealed to unblinking eyes.

For a moment it seemed to the Elf that fear flitted across the Man's face, but his demeanor was quickly masked, and as if in satisfaction, the elder gave a short nod before Erestor felt the restraining hands of the two soldiers return to his shoulders, and just as relief began to settle within him, a painful blow was landed to his gut, and the life-giving oxygen was forced from his lungs.

_To be continued…_

**oOoOoOo**

**REVIEWS: **

**Randa-Chan: Hehe… I know, I'm evil. And thank you, I appreciate the praise!**

**INMH: I know, I know. I'm bad. This chapter didn't exactly come out as planned, and personally I'm not very happy with it. It'll get better as the story progresses. **

**Pegasus: blush well, thank you very much It's good to know my work is appreciated. **


	11. Chapters 11 & 12

Two Worlds

_Summary: I do not own the characters associated with The Lord of the Rings, nor the book its self. All credit belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. _

OoOoOoO

Ch 11

Blow after blow was delivered to the dark-headed Elf's abdomen as the two soldiers held him firm, refusing to relinquish their hold. Stars seemed to flash before his eyes as the oxygen continued to be forced from his lungs again and again, and despite his efforts, he could not make these men comprehend his lack of understanding of their language or their purpose.

Another grunt left his lips with the coming of another punch, and he could not help the sudden urge to cough. The Captain of these people continued to spit words at him as fists reined down on him, words that held no meaning to him.

"I don't know what you want from me," he finally cried. "How can I make you understand??"

Erestor's words spoken in the Westron tongue, however, only seemed to enrage the vicious Captain further, and the Eldar groaned when he felt the knuckles of the rough fist connect with his right temple, before another quickly followed to the left side, cruelly splitting his lip in the process.

It made no sense to him. Why were they doing this? He had committed no crime. Was it because of what he was? Man feared what he did not understand, after all, and it had been many centuries past since last the race of the Eldar had walked among the Edain. Though that still did not rectify their reasons for such harsh treatment. It was an unlikely scenario in any case. They had attacked before they had even realized what he and the others were.

A darkening haze slowly ensnared him, and very soon Erestor found his consciousness slipping. These men would either beat him until they attained what they wanted, or kill him in the process, and very soon the latter thought became very appealing as the abuse continued.

OoOoOoO

Morning came with the first snowfall of the season, nothing but silence echoing throughout the small valley as the tiny individual flakes of white crystal gracefully floated down from the clouded sky, no two exactly alike. And though the silence that accompanied it was peaceful, it did nothing to comfort the hearts of the Wizard and his Elven companions trapped within the cold dingy cell. Erestor had not yet returned, and all had remained awake that night with worry that was quickly mounting as the hours of his absence continued on.

It had been a long while since anyone had spoken, each engaged in their own private thoughts. Legolas stood at the small window, arms crossed loosely against his chest, his eyes gazing outwards across the encampment and unmoving as the snowflakes fell past him.

Gandalf sat huddled in a corner, his hands chafing together to warm them in this sudden on-take of cool weather. It was cold here, in this climate, and he did not care for it at all. More than anything he wished for a piece of flint to light his pipe, but hope could often be cruel and elusive.

Elrond and Glorfindel remained side by side in silence, and while the Balrog slayer's posture was hunched over and lax, his eyes continued to glance at the door in the hopes that his companion would soon return. Elrond's countenance remained a stony mask unintelligible to any other, or at least that would be how it would appear to one whom did not know him well. But his surrounding friends knew better, and could tell he was just as worried as any other for his chief counsellor.

It was Celeborn's worry, however, that seemed to permeate throughout the air as he continued to hold his unconscious wife against his chest, not once releasing her during the entire night. There had been several times that she had shown the briefest signs of awakening, whether it be the fluttering of an eyelash or the twitch of a finger, but it soon became apparent that they were relying on false hope. So when the Lady's eyes had finally peeled open, all had been startled when a sharp intake of breath left her lungs.

Her body jolted forward as a short cry of fear left her lips, her last memories being that of her under the cruel mercy of the Al-Qaeda men. Her eyes darted frantically around her, and after several short pants, recognition of her surroundings and the faces around her, her body slowly became lax as she hunched over, bringing a hand to her mouth as a small whimper escaped.

Now more than ever, Celeborn felt completely helpless. His eyes were wide and unsure as he gazed down at his broken mistress, and he could do naught but encircle her in slim but powerful arms, pulling her body against his firm chest as he murmured words of comfort to her.

The others looked on, uncertain what they should do. There had been fear in the Lady's eyes, cold hard terror that was rarely presented on her beautiful face. It was truly unnerving to witness, and none were certain it was their place to offer comfort.

Elrond, being the great healer he was renowned for, could not deny his instincts, however, and made his way to the couple, holding out his hand to stay his companions when they moved to follow.

"My dear, what happened?" Celeborn whispered into a pointed ear, his hands making comforting circular motions upon the Lady's back. He could feel her body trembling against him as she fought back the sobs that threatened to escape, though he knew in his heart that she would not allow them to pass her lips, for the others reassurance if nothing else.

"Those men," her voice was quiet and strained, "they're naught but brutal monsters."

Ignoring Elrond's command to stay put, Gandalf rose from his corner and knelt down beside the three Elves. "Galadriel, what did they do to you?"

"You know what they've done, Mithrandir. Look at me," she cried, gazing down at her own wounded body. In more of a whisper, she continued. "Is it not obvious?"

The Maia was silent for a moment, and met the gaze of the Noldo lord, and in-turn Elrond held his arm, pulling back slightly so that he could speak in private. "It will do no good to push her for answers, not yet, Gandalf. Give her time."

"If we do not push her, and she allows these feelings of grief to well up inside of her, it could very well be her end, you know this, Elrond."

"Even so," the Elf Lord countered, "to be forced to speak of such things openly so soon could devastate her further. She has been humiliated enough, for the time being. Leave her be for now."

The Istar stared at the Elf for a long moment, absently turning his attention to the two on the floor. With a resounding sigh he gave a short nod, before joining Legolas and Glorfindel near the door. Elrond was right, of course. He had, after all, first hand experience with such occasions.

As Elrond re-examined the Lady's injuries, Celeborn by her side, Gandalf and the other two Elves kept silent vigil by the door in the hopes that the advisor would be returned to them, preying he was not in the same condition as the Lady of the Golden Wood. Erestor was not a fighter, and would not have as great a chance to defend himself as Glorfindel or Elrond would in most similar circumstances.

When footfalls could finally be heard approaching, however, the absence of an Elf lowered their spirits as they walked past their cell. But Legolas, instead of getting discouraged, turned quickly to the Wizard.

"This may be our only chance to carry out our plan," he murmured in a rush. "If we are to do it, then we must do it now."

"Yes," Mithrandir agreed. "Yes, you are right, I think."

Legolas nodded, then turned apologetic eyes to Glorfindel. "My Lord, forgive me."

The Balrog slayer furrowed his brow in confusion. "Forgive you for what?"

He had no other warning, however, before he found himself being tackled to the floor by the younger Elf, and soon after the Seneschal realized what was happening, the two were wrestling around on the floor like a pair of angered elflings. Legolas was careful, though, not to make contact with his friend's wound. He was not as thoughtless to re-injure the other, and would not have even tempted it had Glorfindel's life been in great peril. Elves were quick to heal from injuries, after all, especially this great warrior whom had been resurrected from the dead.

Elrond, however, was not as passive of the situation, and looked on in disapproval, eyebrow raised. "Legolas, that's enough!"

His protests were ignored, and the Woodland Elf merely smirked as he gained power over the other, though his victory was short-lived when the broader figure managed to flip him off his person and pin him beneath with a cocky smile. The Seneschal was behaving just as childishly. Encouraging it, even.

"Glorfindel!" Elrond cried in exasperation.

Their scuffle had been triumphantly heard, and running feet echoed as they returned their way. The door swung open, and as Legolas and Glorfindel continued to feign a tussle, luck appeared to be on their side as only two young Al-Qaeda soldiers entered the room and attempted to separate them. It was then when their hands were free of weapons and instead occupied with breaking the two apart that the Elven Prince turned and swung a punch at the one restraining him. He fell to the floor, unconscious, blood seeping out of his mouth, and before his companion had a chance to cry out a warning, the Balrog-Slayer did likewise to him.

"We must go now!" Gandalf barked.

With gentle care, Celeborn lifted his injured mate into his arms as he and the others raced out of the prison.

Once outside, the group pressed up against the stone wall, eyes carefully exploring their surroundings in search of other Al-Qaeda. Two large doors caught their attention, the same ones they came in through, no doubt.

"That is our target," Gandalf said, "those twin doors."

"How are we to get through?" Glorfindel asked. "The doors are guarded and may be locked."

"That ladder," Elrond said, motioning to the large steps beside a lean alcove in the tall wooden gate. "It's our only chance, should all else fail."

"What about Galadriel?" Celeborn inquired worriedly.

"I'll be alright," the Lady reassured them, "I can make it."

"And Erestor?" the Balrog-Slayer queried. "Surely we're not about to abandon him?"

"Legolas will retrieve him," the Istar reassured. "He is swifter on foot than the rest of us."

"Where might I find him?" The Silvan prince asked, looking expectantly at the Lady, and Galadriel pointed to a large white tent in the center of the fort.

"If they took Erestor to the same place they brought me, he should be in there."

The flaxen-haired Elf nodded, and scanning his surroundings carefully as a deer would a meadow , bolted off.

"Be careful, Legolas," the Wizard murmured.

OoOoOoO

Two Worlds

_Summary: I do not own the characters associated with The Lord of the Rings, nor the book its self. All credit belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. _

OoOoO

CH 12

He silently sprinted from one tent to another, using the large canvases as shielding from enemy eyes. He was swift and alert, his long, slender legs carrying him to his destination. He paused a moment when a gang of silhouettes approached, and slipped between two tents, crouching down into the shadows.

They marched in double file, limbs matching in perfect unison as they walked, weapons held at their shoulders, faces stony masks of discipline through the dark facial hair.

Once they were beyond sight, the Elf slid out from his cover and made the rest of the short distance to the main tent. He squatted down beside the closed flaps and quietly listened. From inside, he could hear raspy breathing, and this worried him. Peeling back a corner of the tarp, he noticed only a single guard pacing back and forth before the entrance. And on the ground before him, lay a battered and bruised Erestor, his limbs restrained at his back with rope.

Legolas' eyes grew wide as he took in the state of the counsellor. His normally flawless face now bore a black eye, and blood marred a delicate cheekbone, and also a split lip. There were spots of dried blood on his garments as well, indicating more wounds, and in his grief his eyes were tightly squeezed shut as if to block out the cruel world around him.

He meant to ready himself then, but something else caught his eye; in the corner of the room beside what appeared to be a small stand lined with various books, lay a tall, white rod. Gandalf's staff. He would be certain to retrieve it.

Steeling himself, Legolas threw back the tarp and launched himself into the soldier, this action taking him by surprise. For a moment they struggled, the man attempting to ready his rifle, which was slung over his left shoulder, but Legolas eventually managed to overpower him, and with a trip of his leg, the human fell backwards, striking his head against the floor and knocking him out cold.

Stepping over the dazed body, the fair-haired Elf was quick to untie the binds that held his companion. "Erestor, how do you fare?"

"Ai! Legolas," the Noldo gasped, "praise the Valar. It is you."

"Aye," he replied as he assisted the other to his feet. "Come, we must go. Can you walk?"

"I believe so, but--"

"Good. Now come. We must hurry."

Grabbing the Wizard's staff, the prince took Erestor by the arm to lead him out, but before they had a chance to walk beneath the setting sun, the other stopped him.

"Hold on a moment… How did you escape?"

"I shall explain everything later, but needless to say that 'childish idea' of mine managed to prove triumphant. Right now though, we must go! Now come, follow my lead."

Luck took a cruel turn on them just then, however, for not two steps towards the door did they freeze in their tracks as two soldiers, the ones whom Erestor recognized as his restrainers as their master pummelled him, pushed past the entrance, weapons aimed as they stared at the Elves levelly. And the young plump boy, whom had pity shining in his eyes before, showed the same emotions now on his round face.

Legolas looked around frantically for anything he could defend himself with, willing even to use Gandalf's staff to protect them, so sure was he that it was all over as the Men tightened their fingers around their triggers.

That is why he stood shocked for a long moment, staring blankly, when the young man turned his weapon on his comrade, and a loud bang echoed across the plain as he fell face-first to the ground.

A loud commotion began to stir outside as all within the encampment heard the weapon's fire. And the boy, pulling the flap to the side, motioned the Elves outside, speaking only a single word that though they could not understand, could easily grasp the meaning of. Run.

Not waiting for any explanation, Legolas grabbed the other Elf by the arm and together they ran as quickly as their legs would carry them.

OoOoO

Beyond the encampment, and aside the forest where the rolling hills had turned golden in hibernation for the oncoming winter, a lone bay stallion with a dark flowing mane stood attentively as his large brown eyes gazed down upon the active fort as his master perched astride him. This man, with a neatly trimmed greying beard, and garbed in a dark jacket and wide-brimmed hat, stared down at the same spectacle as his steed, two round objects pressed firmly against his eyes as he did so.

He followed the scene closely, absently gnawing on his lower lip before lowering the item in his hand and nodding to himself. With a piercing whistle, he kicked his stallion into a gallop, and out from the shelter of the forest, several more horses of various breeds carrying riders loyally followed him down the large hill and across the field… towards the enemy camp.

OoOoO

"Gandalf!"

The gunshot had alerted the soldiers immediately, and now that they had become aware that the strange beings they had captured had escaped their prison cell and were apparently missing, the entire encampment was in an uproar as they searched for their Elven captives and the Wizard frantically.

Legolas and Erestor found themselves dodging bodies and weapons alike, desperately trying to reach the alcove by the ladder they knew their friends were waiting.

Halting as a group of soldiers surrounded them, the Elven Prince used the Wizard's staff as a warrior would handle a sword to strike the men down, while Erestor did his best to fight with his bare hands. More bullets were dodged as they were fired upon, and having other little choice, using the stealth gifted to their kin, the Elves managed to leap over the sheet-covered heads.

Closer they came to the large wooden doors, but as they gradually neared them it became apparent that their comrades were not there. Where were they? They had plenty of time to climb up the wall. Perhaps they had climbed over, already? Or had they been captured before reaching it?

Their answer came to them as they were surrounded once again, this time by nearly every soldier in the camp. They had no choice now but to stop. Elven stealth could not help them now. Coming out of the crowd, blade pressed up against a pale throat, was the Lady Galadriel ensnared in the hands of the Al-Qaeda captain. He spouted something at them, a threat, no doubt.

Legolas sneered at the Man, his body tensing as if readying to leap upon him. But Erestor, with a shake of his head, stilled him with a hand to his shoulder. They would surely kill her if either of them made a move, he had no doubt about it now.

Feeling hands grab them from behind, and the staff yanked out of his hand, Legolas and Erestor allowed themselves to be lead through the assembly. Once they had cleared past them, they were lead to a line of posts near the edge of the fence… right where Mithrandir and their fellow Elves were bound.

Legolas struggled as he was tied to his own stake beside his comrades, Erestor aside him. After they had been secured they watched as Galadriel was restrained and bound to a post, as well.

With an arrogant smirk shot their way, the captain disappeared amongst his soldiers. When he was out of sight, Legolas turned his head sharply, beseechingly gazing at the Imladris Lord beside him.

"What happened, Elrond?"

The ebony-haired Elf sighed, shaking his head to himself dejectedly. "They caught us before we even had the chance to flee towards the doors. After you had gone after Erestor a group of soldiers happened to cross our path. I'm sorry, Legolas."

A movement in front of them caught their attention before the younger Elf could reply, and their bright Elven eyes rose to meet the cocky gaze of the captain once again, whom had returned from the swarm of soldiers. His features were drawn in spite as he held something dark and shiny in his hands. A weapon, one of the smaller versions they had seen the men bear before.

Readying the revolver, the man lifted it, finger wrapped securely around the trigger. And aimed it directly at Elrond's head.

To Be Continued…

OoOoO

**REVIEWS:**

**INMH: **_Me? Kill Galadriel?? Never! She IS cool. I would never dream of killing her._

**DreaminofLorien: **_And thank YOU for the review :) I find Galadriel a very complex character, making her hard to write. Glad to know I'm doing an okay job.__The idea for this story was actually based on a dream I once had a long while back, just around the same time as the EE of the Two Towers came out on dvd and video. Yeah... I have strange dreams. _

**Randa-Chan:**_ Well, you got to see both action and Legolas' plan in these two chapter, didn't you? ;P I know... I'm slower than a snail when it comes to writing these things. Between the three fics I'm currently working on it's hard to get them out so quickly. Anywho, hope you enjoyed these ones. _

OoOoOoO


	12. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**WARNING: This chapter contains racial themes and foul language. Anyone offended by either of these things should stop reading NOW. You have been warned!**

**OoOoO**

**Ch 13**

The thundering bang that resonated in the air sent a nesting murder of crows into a frenzied flight, cawing with fear as they took to the open sky.

Elrond flinched, his grey eyes reflectively squinting, so certain his life was about to end. But after a resounding moment of silence passed, bringing no pain nor the gentlest of touches, his eyelids slowly peeled back open, both surprised and relieved that he still drew breath. Glancing up, he caught the horror-struck gaze of the Al-Qaeda Captain in front of him, his mouth working its self soundlessly for a split second before rivulets of blood started dribbling down his chin. The lively glaze in the Man's eyes faded, and he fell face-first to the dusty ground with an reverberating thump.

Before the Elf lord could even begin to contemplate what was happening, a shout from behind the gates that sounded very much like a battle cry rose up, and as comprehension seemed to dawn upon the Al-Qaeda soldiers faces, the doors ignited with a roaring crack of fire.

The dust had not the chance to settle before a cavalry of Men on horseback burst through the opening, weapons drawn while the soldiers quickly pulled out their own and scattered. It was not soon after that the sound of weapons fire and the neighing of horses filled the air as the Men of the different races battled against one another.

"What's happening?" Erestor exclaimed, flinching as the piercing sound of weapon's fire sang past his delicate Elven ears. But there was no response as Gandalf and the other Elves looked equally confused.

The thundering of hooves bellowed around them as the Men fought, some jumping from the backs of their mounts to fight hand-to-hand. Blood soon splattered the sandy ground, along with the moans of the dying.

Among the chaos, the Wizard and his companions glanced around them, their glimpses short but calculating. These new Men were different, their flesh paler, and their garb very different in style. Judging by their vocalization they even spoke differently.

They started when a dark buckskin stallion came to a halt before them, and the rider; a slim man with a short beard and a wide brimmed black hat, dismounted, unsheathing a small hidden knife from his pocket. Elrond tensed as the Man approached him and raised his hand, but when the weapon came down and severed the Noldo's bonds, his expression changed to one of bewilderment.

"You alright, buddy?" the Man asked.

But before Elrond could even take a guess as to what had just been said to him, he was forcefully nudged aside, and he turned just in time to see the Edan free a weapon from its hoister and fire it at the chest of an advancing soldier. The Elf Lord was then thrown a spare knife.

"Here, untie your friends!"

Though he could not understand him, Elrond caught his meaning very well. He quickly turned, cutting the ropes that bound Legolas beside him.

When the Silvan Elf was free, his eyes darted to the ground, his warrior's instincts long suppressed emerging after over a thousand years. He saw no immediate weapons littered across the earth, but Gandalf's abandoned staff half buried in the sand. He darted for it, using it like a weapon and smacking down the enemies as they closed in on him.

Glorfindel, too, was quick to search for a weapon he could use once he was freed, his battle hardened senses reflexively taking over.

"This is not our fight!" Erestor objected, his logic mind taking into effect. Or perhaps it was suppressed fear. He was a scholar, after all, not a fighter. "We have no right to intrude!"

"We have _every_ right to intrude!" the Balrog Slayer shot back, the Al-Qaeda's treatment of them far from forgotten, the ghost of an ache pulsing where he had been shot. Reaching down, he retrieved two knives not too far apart from one another and tossed one to the dark haired Elf. "Here!"

And Erestor held it out at arm's length with reluctance, staring down at it as if it was going to jump up and bite him.

After untying Celeborn, he and Elrond carefully but swiftly released Galadriel. Had her husband not been there to support her, she surely would have collapsed to the ground. Even with him, her legs buckled under her bodyweight, and so the Elf Lord scooped her up into his powerful arms.

"Head towards the gate and take cover," Mithrander commanded as he massaged his chafed wrists, "She is in no condition to fight! Give me that," he snapped at Legolas, wrenching his staff from the Elf's grasp.

Celeborn obeyed without conscious thought, edging towards the gap in the large, broken wooden doors, picking through his path carefully. He bore no weapons and cradled his injured wife in his arms, and thus was vulnerable and susceptible to an attack on his person. Fighting and death and blood were all around him, and it took nearly all his willpower to keep his mind on his appointed goal.

Had Men changed so little after these many millennia? Not just slaughtering beasts, but their own species as well! If anything, they seemed to have evolved into more malicious creatures. It was rather sad to see what Men had become, what they had reduced to.

Once they cleared the party of Men they had just brought down, Mithrandir beckoning the others to follow the Lorien Elves and form a protective ring around the two, and headed for the gates.

"A fine situation the Valar have decided to throw us in," Erestor muttered, his attention captured by the fighting around them.

"The Valar have hardly been on our side as of late," Glorfindel snorted.

"You speak blasphemy," the Wizard reprimanded. "Do not lose your faith in Iluvatar! Whatever happens, there is a reason for it!"

They silenced as a trio of horsemen barrelled past them, shouting to one another in hurried speech. Noticing a small alcove between the gates that would suffice as a temporary form of cover, Elrond beckoned the others to follow him.

"It would be so much simpler if we understood what they were saying," The Elf Lord said, "then we could, perhaps, shed some light on what is happening, here."

"You are right, perhaps," the Wizard replied, a thoughtful look in his ancient eyes.

Then, with a bellowing curse, Gandalf raised his staff into the air, slamming the base into the ground as a blinding aura that none of the Men seemed to notice swept across the encampment. And as he listened, their voices that had been nothing but rambling gibberish to his ears before, slowly began to make sense. He could understand the languages of these Men.

"Mithrandir," Legolas started in surprise, "what-"

"Silence!" The Wizard spat. He concentrated, choosing one voice and listening carefully to it.

"…we can overtake them. Find our people and get them out of here as quickly as you can. Raid the tents and see if you can find any important documents- tapes, blueprints, logs, anything useful."

"What about the Al-Qaeda? What should we do with them?"

"One thing at a time. We'll decide on what to do with them later. For now keep a sharp eye, but don't shoot to kill. We may need them for questioning later."

"Even after what those bastards did to us? No offence, Sir, but they don't deserve our mercy. They've taken our people as hostages, raped and tortured them to death, dropped bombs on some of our greatest cities, and kill anyone that doesn't agree with their beliefs, kids included! Not to mention what they did to the U.S. a few years back when they flew into the Twin Towers and all this bullshit started. We should just-"

"You have your orders. I better not catch you doing otherwise, understand, boy?"

There was no reply, but from what the Wizard could decipher, there was a grunt of acknowledgement that he took as a sign of grudging submission.

"Mithrandir!"

Eyes jolting open that he did not realize had closed until that moment, Gandalf turned to face his companions. He was then unceremoniously grabbed by the shoulder of his robes and pulled swiftly along the fence.

"What was that all about?"

The small group came very close to becoming walking targets, dodging stray bullets and thrown knives, while all but Celeborn who cradled the injured Galadriel in his arms warded off the Men who came charging at them.

When they had finally made it out into the open, Legolas' keen Elven eyes picked out a suitable hiding place for the time being- a large boulder surrounded by thick shrubs on the borderline of the forest- they crouched low, breathing heavily as they regained their strength.

"This is not an unprovoked attack, from what I understand," Gandalf eventually said, "these newcomers are retaliating. Our captures, these 'Al-Qaeda' as these men call them, appear to be terrorists. Though, I can tell you little more than that."

A number of gunshots went off in the background, and the Elves and Mithrandir startled. Though, sheltered behind the imposing figure of the boulder, there was little chance they would be seen.

"How do you know all this?" Elrond demanded, his facial features truly an expression of bewilderment.

"The spell I cast," Gandalf explained with a twitch of his staff, "it grants me the ability to understand the languages of these men, by delving deep within their minds and registering their thoughts."

"You can read their minds?" Glorfindel asked.

"Not exactly-" There was a booming sound of one of the rifles, followed by a cry of pain that interrupted the Istar. "Though, I hardly think we should be discussing the art of spells at the present time!"

"Perhaps we should leave here," Elrond suggested, his eyes darting around the noisy scenery. "A battlefield is no place to cower behind rock and trees, we could be killed."

"We could get killed if we're spotted," countered Legolas.

"And I don't think I can go any further, Elrond," Erestor interjected between shallow pants. "After being at the hands of those Men for so long, and then trying to outrun them and fight for my life, I have little strength left in me. And Lady Galadriel's worse off then I am." With a lift of his chin in to his left, the dark haired Elf nodded towards Celeborn whom was propping his wife gently against the rock's broad surface.

The Golden Lady was still pale, several healing wounds beginning to bleed again. But what was worse was the still- haunted look in her eyes, and though she tried to assure her concerned husband she was well, Celeborn continued to gaze worriedly at her.

"We really have no choice but to wait," Gandalf murmured, "at least until Galadriel and Erestor have regained some of their strength."

The ricochet of bullets continued, never ceasing in their thunderous bellows as they were shot from their pistols and rifles in a one way journey to end another person's life. Legolas peered over the edge of the boulder, his ancient eyes sweeping over the battleground and the growing number of bodies that covered the earth before Glorfindel tugged on his sleeve, urging him to get down.

"What could have caused them to despise one another so?"

"Since the dawn of time, hatred has existed," Glorfindel replied. "Even between Elves."

"But we do not kill each other so needlessly. Not since…" The Greenwood Elf trailed off, realizing he was treading on forbidden territory.

"The Kinslaying." Galadriel finished softly. She shifted her body uncomfortably, but she managed herself to gaze firmly at the younger Elf. "Your father has begrudged me for many millennia because of my Noldorin heritage, Legolas, this you know. Prejudice is not beyond us. We are not violent, no, but we still have our faults, as do all creatures. We should not judge an entire race by only a small minority's actions."

"Gandalf, what exactly did you hear those Men say? Did they mention why they were attacking these… 'Al-Qaeda' ?" Celeborn asked.

"I only heard part of the conversation," the Wizard replied, "but it seems the Al-Qaeda warriors had attacked the newcomers first, and so they were retaliating. They came to rescue some hostages from their own village."

"Hostages," Glorfindel murmured, and then clarity sunk into his brain like a sharp slap in the face. "Those heads on the stakes…" A shudder passed down his spine then, as he thought back to the row of pikes they had seen when they first entered the encampment, each one bearing the recently severed scull of a human- some no more than children.

"Did they speak of anything else?" Celeborn inquired.

"Only to pillage essential things that the newcomers required. My concentration was broken before I heard anything more." Mithrandir said.

"You worried us for a moment," Legolas retorted. "It was if you were in a trance and could not break free."

"Even so," Erestor said, "that was quite a spectacle. I was amazed that none of the Men even noticed the blinding light that swept across us all. But why is it that you were the only one effected, Mithrandir? I would much like to hear what is going on for myself."

"This particular spell cannot be directly passed on to another. It is a complicated spell that Maia seldom use. I may, however, be able to transfer it to each of you through telepathy. Though I will not guarantee it will work.

"In any event, I was quite aware of my surroundings. Had I wanted to, I could have stopped listening at any given time."

"Interesting," Elrond spoke as a thoughtful finger rubbed at his chin, "I had no idea the Istari possessed such a power."

"We do not use it lightly," Gandalf replied, "such an invasion of the privacy of one's thoughts aren't normally permitted. But I had no choice. We are in the most desperate of situations. For now, all we can do is sit here and decide what we are to do now."

The evening grew on with the un-silenced butchery that continued to ring out across the normally peaceful country. Cries could still be heard as slugs were released from their gauges, ending life after miserable life. The fight eventually broke out into the field and saddled horses ran freely as the thunderous noise spooked them into a frenzy. Gandalf and the Elves remained behind their shelter, listening and waiting until the ongoing ruckus finally came to an end, and with it, cheers of victory that rang up into the darkening sky.

"Do you hear that?" Legolas exclaimed, peeking over the oversized rock. "The Al-Qaeda fighters have been defeated!"

"Hush," Celeborn warned, "Once the cavalry has dispersed and they are clear from sight we will leave. There's too great a chance yet of them finding us."

"Agreed," The Wizard replied.

"Agreed," Elrond chorused. "We must proceed with great care. Any action we take henceforth could very-well cost us everything we have left,"

"Everything we have left?" The Balrog slayer snorted, "There certainly isn't much left, is there?"

"Don't talk like that, you'll tempt fate against us again!" Erestor admonished.

"Oh, come now, Erestor, do you truly believe after all that's happened, after all that we've suffered, fate will just turn the other cheek and let us on our merry way? Nay, my friend, life is not so simple. You'll do well to open your eyes and see the true nature of things. Things will never be as they once were, and we have very little chance surviving in a world ruled by Men."

"I don't ever recall you being a pessimist, Lord Glorfindel."

"I am merely being realistic, Erestor. Pessimism has nothing to do with it."

"Glorfindel, that will do." The Peredhil warned. "I think, perhaps, that our hunger and exhaustion is taking a toll on us all. Please, let us not argue in such dire times. We cannot afford to draw a rift between ourselves now.

"At any rate, I don't believe these newcomers mean us any harm. They could have killed us, had they wanted to back in that quarry, yet they were merciful and helped us escape."

"Or we may have just been in their way."

"I'm not saying they aren't a danger," the Noldo Elf sighed, "I'm merely saying it's very unlikely that they are. Even if we're not-"

"Get down! Get down!" Legolas exclaimed as he jumped down from his perch by the top of the boulder. The others had no time to question him as they heeded the wood elf's warning.

Horses bearing their riders thundered across the open grassland as they headed towards the forest trail. It was only a small group of seven, a patrol most likely, broken off from their comrades whom were still among the tents, searching and gathering random items. But though the stray party was small, they were alert and vigilant nonetheless. They bore tools as they rode, not weapons but elongated bars that seemed as if they each held a captured star inside and shone brighter than a candle in the dark.

Enchanting though they were, the Elves cursed the wretched things, for if not for them, they never would have been discovered. The light was nearly blinding when directed in one's eyes, but Gandalf, with a sinking feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, figured that was the least of their worries as heavy hooves indicated they were surrounded.

"Who are you?"

OoOoO

**Author's Note: ****I am SO sorry for the long wait, guys. I know I deserve to have my arse kicked. For the longest time I've had writer's block, and between my other fic I'm working on, not to mention the on-goings at home, I just haven't had the time of day to work on Two Worlds. I know, I know- it's been a year. All I can say is that mini-vacastion of mine is over, and I'll try to update more regularly. **

**Thank you all for your patience, and again I apologize for the wait. **

**O0O0O0O**

**REVIEWS: **

**LadyAlariel: (**laughs nervously) I'm really sorry for the long delay. Feel free to chuck tomatoes at me.

**Regnet: **No problem! I'm sorry I haven't WRITTEN in such a long time. Ah, don't worry… as you saw, Elrond is fine :P

**Marilla: **Grins happily Glad you love it… I hope my neglect of this story hasn't turned you away from it. And don't worry about old Elrond… he made it out alive, as you saw above ;)

**Mystical Full Moon Maiden: **Hehe, thanks. I love giving our dear old Elves and Wizard a hard time ;P Again, sorry this took forever.

**DreaminofLorien: **I completely agree with you! It bugs me too when people write Legolas OOC. Any character, really. That's why the best thing to do is read the books first to get his personality straight. LOL, sorry to scare ya like that :P

**ElrondRox:** You're absolutely right, hun! That's exactly why Gandalf couldn't escape… which really sucks 'cause it could have saved them a lot of trouble… meh, I'm cruel, I admit it :P Regarding 'the person who stole my fic's name'… I wouldn't really worry about it. I've seen quite a few fics in this fandom with the same title. I know it gets confusing, and I do wish people weren't allowed to do that, but it would be childish to get all huffy about it. Thank you, though. It's nice to know there are people out there watching out for me. J

**ArcherofDarkness and Callie: **That would have made it way too easy for them to escape :P Besides, Gandalf was restrained… would be pretty hard to summon his staff when both hands are tied behind his back.

**INMH: **Wow, you're still actually waiting for me to update? Wow, and I figured people abandoned this fic long ago. You're right… a year is way too long to postpone a fic. Bad me. Hope this one makes up for my- er… vacation from fan fiction, lol. Sorry I made you wait so long.


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